


The Sword Master

by Sonora



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Drama, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his sister's wedding, Raleigh stays on in the Kingdom of Sydney and deals with his battle fatigue in all the wrong ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel nobody asked for, to the fic very few people read... :D. 
> 
> But I dearly love this little AU, and considering that I binged an entire season of Outlander and I'm starting to stress out again about a few certain issues, I kind of needed to write this. Hopefully it will not go as slow as everything else has this year.
> 
> Related: WHEN DOES THE CHARLIE HUNNAM KING ARTHUR MOVIE COME OUT? 
> 
> (And this feels like a very 1740s-1780s kind of 'verse to me, which is technically a few decades before the Regency era but I don't care! LALALALALA...)

Raleigh had not slept well in many years. Kaiju attack, drink, guilt, pain... all of it competing for his attention, gnawing at that sense of safety he had since come to understand was so integral to sleep’s arrival. She was a fickle mistress, and had forsaken him completely, he had once thought.

However, in the handful of days since his brother had embraced him for the last time and left him in Hercules’ service, Raleigh felt her presence once again. With the boys only just recalled from the mountain garrison, still on their way back to the capitol, and his duties mostly confined to planning the upcoming training, it seemed a good time to indulge her.

Raleigh had barely made it through supper with the king the night before - a quiet affair in Hercules’ personal chambers, just the two of them, although far more business-like than Raleigh would have preferred - before stumbling back to his own bed.

Perhaps he had begun to forget what sleeping on a camp bed, on the edge of the front, was like. Started to let go the stresses of battle. Hercules had even allowed him his own space as well, the comfortable little apartment built atop the armory. Not nearly as fine as the guest room he had been occupying, but well-appointed. 

Even better, it was far from Charles and Jazmine and their distressing insistence on consummating their recent nuptials in damn near every room in the keep. Raleigh could happily live the rest of his life without walking in on _that_ again. 

(Thank the gods Charles was too impatient to divest his new bride of her corset before going about his business. Ladies had so may undergarments to fend off; Raleigh honestly wasn’t sure why any man would wish to deal with it. But he had no desire to have Charles give him an education in the subject.)

But as it was, he had a quiet bed in a quiet room, removed from all the things that had so plagued him the past few years, and Raleigh could have quiet happily slept there forever.

Except, of course, for the bucket of ice-cold water that was unceremoniously dumped over his head that morning.

“What the fuck?!” Raleigh groaned, rolling over on his side, startled almost immediately from sleep.

Hercules was standing there. The king himself. Bucket in hand, and lightly dressed for a day spent outside, those peculiar leather grieves he always wore for sparring wrapped to his knees and a bundle tucks under his arm. He did not look amused.

“Did we forget this is the boys’ first morning back at court, prince?”

Raleigh winced, but pulled himself to sitting. There was no help for it; his shift was soaked and clinging to his body. He wasn’t yet sure what he was to the king, nor the king to him, so he had no idea if he should be embarrassed by this situation or not. “My apologies, milord, but...”

“But you’ve spent too many months recuperating under your brother’s lagress. Need I remind you he has given your service to me?”

“No, milord.”

“And shall I describe the terms of your service here? Go over again your duties to my court, which include seeing to the young pages’ training?”

“No, milord.”

“Good. I am sure the boys are looking forward to learning they’ve been standing out in the dark of the stable yard for the past hour, alone, without the sword-master, is really part of a very clever character building exercise the sword-master has planned,” Hercules replied in an almost bored voice, and tossed Raleigh the bundle. “Right now, after the shit you pulled at my tourny, you’re either a war hero or a worthless drunkard. You’d best decide which version of yourself you’re going to play for them.”

Raleigh rubbed sleep from his eyes and forced himself fully vertical. 

His body ached, but whether that was due to old injuries or recent, he couldn’t be sure. 

Hercules didn’t stay as he pulled on his clothes - disappointing, but perhaps from the best - and his fingers felt numb, dancing over the buttons and laces of his clothing. No servant out here, but he had lived long enough without one of those. Felt freeing, in a way, to not have to deal with such formalities any longer. 

Still, it took him a few moments longer to dress himself than it otherwise would have, especially when trying to negotiate his shirt over his left shoulder. He had taken several bad blows to it during the Kaiju fight, and he could not yet get his left arm more than a few inches off his ribs without the entire region screaming in agony.

Honestly, Raleigh still felt as if he’d been run over by a horse.

Charles was waiting for him outside the door to his rooms, when he’d finally pulled on his clothes and his armor. There was something about the grieves and breastplate - simple leather training gear they might have been - that made him feel more grounded than he had in a long time. 

“Bout time,” Charles commented. “Father’s outside already.”

Raleigh didn’t bother responding.

Raleigh did not want to think of himself as weakened, but the king was right; the months spent under Yancy’s roof, injured as he was, had taken his vitality. Something else, he feared, had taken his confidence. Because as often as he had led men in the field, he felt far more nervous stepping into the stable yard in front of a gaggle of boys.

Some were the very young pages with only a handful of winters to their names, left here after the tourny for a fine summer of climbing trees, riding horses, and perhaps a bit of soldiership to top off the fun. But others were older, fourteen or fifteen, from here in Sydney or from distant manor-houses, the ones who might soon be expected to defend their family’s holdings from Kaiju or bandits, and they needed every scrap of skill their bodies could hold.

Dawn was old.

Hercules was right. Wouldn’t do to be wasting their time.

“Boys, as you have no doubt heard, Master Sergio laid his life down for this kingdom in the Kaiju horde’s latest sacrilege. We buried him with all proper honors and the Valkyries, no doubt, have carried him to the afterlife. You, however, remain and as your parents have entrusted me with your education, our lessons will continue,” Hercules announced without any preamble at all. “I expect you to treat your new instructor with the same respect as your treated your old.” His eyes scanned the small assembly, and then flicked back to Raleigh. Whatever was there was too dark too see. “Enjoy your morning.”

Taking a deep breath, recalling every sword master he had ever learned anything of value from, Raleigh nodded and stepped forward.

“The military is vast stretches of boredom marked by brief moments of terror. The King of Sydney has requested that I teach his nobles’ sons how to triumph over those few moments of terror,” he said. “I trust you will studi-“

“Who’s afraid?” one of the older boys interrupted.

In front of the king? To a prince? “What’s your name?”

“Marco, of Brisbane.”

“Well, Marco of Brisbane, have you ever seen a Kaiju up close?” Raleigh asked, circling over to the weapons rack. “Smelt their foul breath, seen the blood of your kingdom’s children on their swords?”

And of course, that didn’t phase the little bastard at all. “Men in my family must be stronger than yours.”

Raleigh resisted the urge to sigh, and started undoing his cravat, the buttons of his shirt. No respect in children these days, no respect at all. “The Kaiju do not care who your ancestors are. To them, we are all just meat under the sword. There is no diplomacy, no language we speak together nor goals we can work towards. They are here to kill us. We know nothing else of them.”

He slid his arms out and his shirt up, letting it hang loose around his neck and turned his back to them. 

In the new day’s gray light, his scars would practically glow blue. A queer phenomenon that Doctor Geizsler was currently researching back home, Raleigh hoped it would get through to the boys. 

“I want each of you to take a hard look. Their swords burn when they cut, the blades often smeared with their poisons and the wounds hard to close. Muscle damage is a given and it is not always centralized.” He turned back around to face them, pulling his shirt back on. “I survived by the grace of the gods, and the lessons of the men who trained me, including our king. I doubt our days together will be fun, but gods willing, they will be of use.”

The younger boys looked dumbstruck. The older boys looked bored. Of course.

“Questions?” he asked.

“So if you’re the sword master,” another of the older ones piped up immediately, “why is Prince Charles here?” 

“Prince Charles is here because I no longer possess full use of my left hand,” he told them.

“So...”

“The broadsword is a necessary weapon in our current war. You need to have an intimate knowledge of it, but it does require both hands to wield properly. Prince Charles shall be training you on its use where I cannot.” And Raleigh threw Charles a small smile. “And even princes must keep up with their training regimen.”

“So when do we stop training, sir?” one of the younger boys asked, voice still too new to have even dropped yet. It took Raleigh aback for a moment, and then he remembered his own youth spent spitting blood onto courtyard stones, digging dirt from his skin and splinters from his hands, the smell of leather gone soft from hours of sweat and muscles too tired to move, forcing his body upright again. 

“Never,” Hercules replied. “For the war never stops.”

Raleigh had quite forgotten the king was still there with them, and he tucked his shirt back into his trousers with not a small amount of embarrassment. “Now that we’ve had our little introduction,” he said, hoping it wasn’t showing, “I should like to see where we all are in our swordcraft. If you’ve held a weapon before, fetch a rudius from the rack and pair off.”

He went over to where Hercules was standing, but the king’s back was already turned to him. “Anything else I should know?”

“Have them done in time for the noon day meal, and do not injure any of them more than can be helped,” Hercules said in a short voice, and cast a look at him. “I am entrusting them to you.”

“I know, sire,” Raleigh replied, and then had to step in, as Marco swung before his opponent was ready, and his opponent hit back with his fists

By the time he broke up the little brawl that ensued, Hercules was already gone.

+++++

When the sun was at its peak, one of the scullery women brought out a basic midday meal of fruit, bread, beer, and a small plate of meat. Raleigh had to hide his smile when he saw the resigned expressions on the younger boys’ faces; he well remembered this part of his own days as a foster here. Hercules insisted on light fare and nothing better than could be got in the field for any of the boys entrusted to his care. There was nothing luxurious in the castle for any boy engaged in combat training.

It had shocked Raleigh himself at first, accustomed as he was to Hercules’ indulgent manner during holiday visits, to see spartan barracks and no comfort anywhere. But fostering was an important tradition between the Pacific region’s royal families, and so both Beckets had alternated one year at home, one year in Sydney, for a significant amount of their boyhood. Their own father’s approach to education had been far less severe than Hercules, but Hercules’ training had been more fun. 

It had also been far more intense, and apparently, not much had changed in the fifteen years since Raleigh had first come here himself.

Hercules had explained it in greater detail last night. _Most of my nobles lack the means to hire the proper tutors for their children, as many of the academics will not journey so deep into the interior, no matter how rich the stipend. My family has always considered it our duty to grant the boys at least a year or two’s education under our guidance, to ensure they will be competent in their future duties._ Unspoken, Raleigh knew, was Hercules’ desire to ensure he had a ready supply of qualified young officers. Especially in these failing days, with the Kaiju at their throats, defense of Syndey’s territory was of upmost importance. 

Raleigh remembered it all very well. However, as royals Raleigh and Yancy had been given a bit more leeway than the sons of Sydney’s lesser lords. Their lessons were also less tactical and far more extensive, taken with Charles in the king’s private library. A prince required a wider knowledge of civics, politics, history, religion, literature, and natural philosophy than did a baron’s son. 

Regardless of that, they had shared the same accommodations and eaten most of the same meals as the other boys, and Raleigh remembered it fondly. There was bonding in collective struggle, and that, no doubt, was part of things. 

Mornings for fighting, riding, running. Afternoons for quiet study. Evenings for whatever trouble one felt like getting up to, that one could get away with.

He could almost envy his new pupils that freedom. 

He had nobody now.

The boys, impatient as they were, waited for Raleigh to select his food first from the lunch basket. Raleigh took the beer, but left the boys the meat. 

“You are not a noble?” one of the boys - Peter, Raleigh believed, no more than thirteen - asked as they all tucked into their food.

Raleigh frowned, and flicked out his pocket knife to cut a spot off his apple. Bizarre question. “Why would you ask me that?” 

Peter - certainly Peter - sighed. “Our last sword master was a noble.”

“That is hardly an answer.”

“He did not hold a sword as well as you, even with the injury to your arm. And you seem to have many years at the front, sword master, and so young, while Prince Charles has still not gone himself,” another boy, Colum, added. He seemed older, perhaps fifteen or sixteen summers to his name, and Raleigh had already marked him a serious student. “That is why they’re wondering.”

“Prince Charles is the king’s only son, all his siblings killed by the Kaiju hordes. That is why our king chooses to keep him close. My father had no such quandaries with me,” Raleigh replied. “But the prince is a strong fighter nonetheless.”

“I was not questioning his fighting skills.”

“Good. I would not let him hear such talk, or he might take offense.”

“Besides, he’s got his bride to amuse himself with now,” Marco chuckled. “The stable hands say she’s making it quite impossible to fetch hay from the hay loft.”

Raleigh resisted the urge to slap the little bastard for saying anything, anything at all, about his sister. “Take care how you talk about Princess Jazmine. She’s a highborn lady and your future queen. Have Australians no respect for such a prime flower of womanhood?”

If Raleigh was expecting an apology for speaking so of his sister, none came. At least, not in that vein. “I meant no insult to the princess,” the boy mumbled.

“Your words suggest otherwise. Choose your speech more carefully next time. If I ever hear any of you imply anything of this sort again, I shall have you flogged,” Raleigh replied, acid on his tongue, and intentionally shifted back to the subject at hand. “And yes, young Lord Peter, talent may run in blood but skill is an individual accomplishment. Nobles may wield a sword as well as any fencing champion.”

“Is that what you are?” one of the little boys asked.

“No,” Raleigh replied, confused now. “My education was far more bloody than casual sport at gymnasium.”

“So why is an Alaskan here in our king’s court?”

They knew him by his accent, no doubt. “King Yancy offered our king my services.”

“Isn’t King Yancy your king?”

“King Hercules is my liege now. King Yancy of Anchorage offered him my services.”

“You know King Yancy?” 

Marco cuffed him and took another bite of a makeshift sandwich. “Of course he knows them. If the king of Anchorage left him here, it would imply a personal relationship, would it not?”

“Well that’s what I’m saying,” the younger boy whined. It was difficult keeping them all straight so soon in things. Raleigh made a note to learn all their names from one of the tutors. 

“Did Prince Raleigh really take on a Kaiju commander all by himself?” one of the others, the one who hadn’t spoken yet, asked quietly. “Some of the guards said he cut the Kaiju in half with a magic sword from Hong Kong.”

“There are no such things as magic swords,” Marco sneered.

“Maybe there are in Alaska? Or Hong Kong?” Colum asked Raleigh, eyes on the younger boys.

Raleigh recognized that look, and that tone. It was the look of an older brother wanting to make everything alright for his younger siblings; hope that their innocent silliness might go on unimpeded. The heir then, and one who no doubt felt keenly the weight of those encroaching responsibilities. It was a look Yancy had worn often in their shared childhood, intervening in those moments when Father was in particular moods. 

The last thing Raleigh wanted was to be a man the elder boys felt they must protect the younger from.

“The sword was a gift for Prince Charles, upon occasion of his wedding,” Raleigh replied. “But it is not magic. Steel and ivory, that is all. As with all things, its strengths are balanced against its weaknesses.”

“Swords are swords, though,” one of the younger boys said.

That statement led almost immediately into a spirited conversation about the curve and weight balancing and blade length of a dozen different commonly used sword types, and Raleigh let them have it., going back to his lunch instead.

And had they referred to him in the third person? As if he wasn’t there at all?

What a strange group of boys. Hercules would have to do something about the atrocious lack of manners.

+++++

The best thing, Raleigh believed, about the Castle Sydney was the hot springs that fed the royal baths; a balm for aching muscles still healing from a Kaiju drubbing. 

(The second best thing was that the baths were sex-segregated. No possible chance of running into Jazmine and Charles together.)

Raleigh hadn’t even bothered with the evening meal. Hercules was not a man to stand on ceremony, but certain things were required, and it was tradition that the king took his supper with family and whatever other high-born folk or guests might be in the castle that night. That would have meant the boys, and Raleigh had not had the energy for that. He’d taken a long ride that afternoon and come straight down here. 

He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in the baths, when company finally joined him.

“The boys were quite enthusiastic about their new sword master tonight,” Hercules said without any preamble, padding naked and barefoot into the steam of the rock-hewn chamber.

Raleigh looked the other way as his old lover stepped down into the baths. On the other side of the pool, at least, which was a mercy. How he desired to close the distance between them, straddle his king’s lap and welcome him home. He was sure he could make the motions, but the rest of it... he did not want a tumble. His affection for Hercules had always been more than the actual act of sodomy itself, but his heart itself was scarred. How could he trust himself? 

The worst thing Raleigh could imagine was having his king’s cock inside him once more, and feeling nothing. 

“I am glad I made an impression on them.”

“An impression? I should say so. They would not stop pestering me as to your service history. The scars were a bit dramatic for my taste, but if it communicates the message clearly to the boys...”

“What did you tell them?”

“Raleigh, if you do not wish to be a prince for your year here...”

“What are you talking about?”

Hercules looked at him askance. “I understand you did not tell them your name.”

Raleigh frowned. “Did I need to?”

“Raleigh, these are boys from the deep deserts and far mountains of my lands, not yours. They have no idea who you are.”

“But the tourny...”

“You know I always send the pages off to the mountain garrisons for tourny month.” 

And that was true - the only reason Yancy and Raleigh had been allowed to attend in the years when they were in Sydney was due to Father. He’d viewed it as a vital education in diplomatic relations. Hercules thought the entire thing a distraction. And of course. The boys had only returned to the castle yesterday.

“I suppose...”

“... you have never been anywhere where people did not know your name?” Hercules finished for him, interrupting with a wave of his hand. 

Was that it? Had he just assumed the boys knew who he was? Perhaps that was part of it, but after that strange discussion at lunch... “Oh, I have. Father was concerned for my safety out in the field.”

“A nom de guerre?”

“Yes. He was quite insistent on it.” Raleigh laid a hand on the surface on the warm water, bubbles sliding up between his spread digits. “A number of people still knew who I was, but they knew to respect my incognito status.”

Hercules was quiet for a moment and then, running a hand through his wet hair, asked, “is there any reason why you chose not to bring it up with them? I do not believe you so arrogant as to assume all peoples of the Earth know you on sight.”

“I am not sure if they would be entirely comfortable with it,” Raleigh said, but it did not quite feel like the admission it should have been. “They seemed to be quite pleased that they were not dealing with a man they had to defer to. And how are they to learn from a prince, bowing and scraping while they’re supposed to be practicing forms? They need rigor, not fear.”

“Rank does complicate things,” Hercules agreed. “But I would think your status as a warrior should override those concerns.”

“Yancy left me here to distance myself from the warrior,” Raleigh replied. 

“Well, he certainly did not leave you here to distance yourself from your family title...”

“I do not see what good I do my family title,” Raleigh interrupted. “Some day soon, Mako will bear Yancy a son and my last duty as Prince will be extinguished. You, however, seem to have need of me in the yard as sword master. I would rather be something of use.”

Hercules flicked at the water, but nodded. “If that is how you wish it, I will not tell them different.” Hercules ran a wet hand through his hair. “They won’t know you if you do not wish it.”

“I think it will be better for them.”

“Indeed,” Hercules said drily. “Know that this does mean I treat you as my enlisted man, with everything that entails. Meals, clothing, a stipend without additional luxuries...”

As if he needed much. He’d spent years in rough garrisons, in tents, in a dozen other, less pleasant places. And not dealing with the niceties of court would be a welcome relief. He could just focus on... whatever it was Yancy wanted him to focus on here. “I am satisfied with my current lodgings. I need nothing else.”

“Raleigh...”

“Yancy was right. I need a change.”

“Neither you nor I can unmake what you are, dear boy.”

“But you can define it, my king,” Raleigh said hopefully. It did seem like a rather good idea. Court was no doubt the source of the weakness he’d been feeling in himself of late. Maybe refocusing on who he was, the man he’d made for himself, was the best way of healing this ache in his heart. “And isn’t this the service you wished for me to render to you?”

Hercules flicked the water. He was irritated, but at what, Raleigh had no idea. Hadn’t he given the position freely? “I would think that my grievously injured sword master could still avail himself of the king’s own bath house. Privacy, away from his students.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“I’ll have my orders to my tailors adjusted. Wouldn’t do to have you traipsing about in brocade, now would it?”

Raleigh was fairly certain Hercules was joking, but the newest styles out of California had become far more ornate in the past few years, so who knew? “Thank you, my king.”

“And there was one more matter I shall have to discuss with you.”

“Yes, milord?”

“A small question of fealty,” Hercules replied. “I was not intending for a public ceremony, but if you wish to abdicate your position for a lesser one, I am afraid I must insist upon something.”

Raleigh felt his heart speed up. Swearing fealty to Hercules was tantamount to surrendering his status as an Alaskan. “Milord...”

“I am not asking you to betray your brother, Raleigh. But if you are my man, you must be mine.”

He grasped for Hercules’ hand underwater and, finding it, lifted it to his lips. “I love your country as I love my own, milord. Whatever you ask of me, I give without hesitation. I would die for your House.”

“And me?”

“Yes sire,” he murmured, clinging tight to his king’s hand, “I would die for you.”

A smile quirked at the corners of Hercules’ mouth, but he said nothing more about it, just tugged a little at Raleigh’s hand. 

Urging him closer, Raleigh knew, but he couldn’t go. Not with his heart wrapped in fog as it was. He slid back into his place against the smooth marble tub, and shifted until his entire left side was underwater. 

“Ah,” Hercules said. “If I have made you uncomfortable, I shall g-“

“Please do not, milord. My shoulder... it is only my shoulder bothering me tonight. I would be no good for you right now.”

“My dear boy, of all the things I might demand of you, that, I promise, will be the last.”

Raleigh desperately hoped Yancy was right; that this was his chance to set things to right in his head, and perhaps find a way to be his king’s boy once again. As it was, merely being in the same space with him was soothing, and they stayed there together in comfortable silence until Raleigh started yawning and Hercules ordered him to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning after his conversation with Hercules in the baths, Raleigh woke up alone.

There was nothing so unusual about that. Except for the first time in years, it felt like somebody else should have been there.

It was a strange feeling, one that followed him from his bed and his chambers and out into the courtyard, where his boys were waiting for him. And whatever else might have gone wrong in him, Raleigh realized, this at least was something he could do right. He could make a difference for those boys.

The younger ones rotated in and out, he found, busy with other tasks the king had them set to, but the older ones were his every morning from sunrise to noon. The two older youths on the cusp of adulthood, four between the awkward ages of ten to fourteen, maybe five or six younger that than. It seemed too large a load at first, but after the first week, he felt as if he was getting a firm grasp of what needed to be done and how to do it. 

“How are you finding them?” Doctor Gottleib asked on Friday morning, leaning on his cane by the stable yard, watching their pupils struggle to get their horses tacked up. Colum and Peter - at Raleigh’s behest - were busy trying to show the little ones how to properly size the stirrups, but one of them, little Nicholas, was almost too short to reach his pony’s saddle even with the mounting block. “I find they get impatient with each other during lessons. I normally leave the older ones to self-study. Except for Marco.”

“Yes, he does not seem enthusiastic about any of this,” Raleigh replied. Only a week in, and he already knew that boy was insouciant. He just hoped the boy wasn’t beyond fixing. At that age, it was likely nothing more could be done to improve his attitude, his character.

“He is very intelligent. Bored, perhaps, although he does not respond when I attempt to challenge him,” Gottleib continued. “I would recommend him for university, were he of a more common class. Instead, he shall have the family’s manor to run. But I suppose he will not be the first ineffectual, cruel noble this country has seen.”

Raleigh gave him a sideways look. The natural philosopher was a strange man, and even before he’d agreed to uphold this little artifice, he had never seemed one for the niceties Raleigh had come to expect from his father’s - now brother’s - court. “I am not ready to dismiss him so easily.”

“Fixing him will not fix you,” Gottlieb replied.

Raleigh narrowed his eyes. “That is not...”

“Doctor Geizsler and I did discuss your case. He wanted me to keep an eye on you, in case you should relapse in any fashion. Do not worry yourself about it. I do not intend on sharing anything I may observe.”

“And what have you observed thus far?”

“I would suggest varying your diet a bit more. You need proper feeding to recover from the years you spent away from such things. Food is a necessity, not a luxury,” Gottlieb said, sounding very self-assurd, but then his voice dropped. “And perhaps looking after some of the other humors that may need balancing?”

Raleigh frowned. “Such as what, good doctor?”

“The best houses are found in a cluster at end of Queen’s Boulevard. Gold would be far too circumspect, but should you take silver, they will welcome you gratefully. The best of them is the Black Pearl on...”

And his brain caught up with the words. “Are you suggesting I frequent a whorehouse?”

“Men have needs, dear boy. Occasional release is necessary for good health.”

“I...”

“They have a variety of goods to select from,” Gottlieb replied smoothly. “Both the rougher and fairer variety.”

Raleigh bit his lip so hard he could have sworn he tasted blood. Did Gottlieb know? Gods, did everyone know? But the last thing he wanted to do was get in a fight about that topic, potentially at a volume where the boys could hear him. “Thank you,” he said, in a tone pitched to mean the exact opposite.

“It is no matter. King Yancy would never forgive us if we failed to look after you properly,” the tutor replied.

“Nor should we,” Hercules’ voice boomed from behind them, and Raleigh turned just in time to observe the king striding towards them in faded breeches and riding boots. It had been a while since he’d heard the king use formal speech, and the shift was a bit jarring. “How goes it this fine morning?”

“It is a fine morning,” Raleigh agreed. “I thought to take the pages for a long ride to the hard eucalyptus groves and cut some staves. Give their bodies a chance to be sore in other places.”

“Excellent, yes. Is it an imposition for us to accompany you?”

“Not at all, milord,” Raligh replied automatically. “Shall I saddle your horse for you?”

Hercules opened his mouth to answer, but obvious caught himself from saying something inappropriate to the moment. “Yes, do that,” he said dismissively, and strode past Raleigh to go speak to the pages.

Gottleib gave Raleigh a look. “Will you have them back by the noon meal?”

“I will try.”

“Excellent. Have a pleasant ride.”

Peter came up alongside Raleigh as their tutor limped away, saddle pad in hand. “Swordmaster, why does he walk that way? Was he injured on the field as well?”

Raleigh, in truth, had no knowledge of the source of the doctor’s limp. “It is quite impolite to speculate as to another man’s health,” he replied.

“I know, I had just... I have been wondering.”

“If he has not told you, it is not my place to do so,” Raleigh said, and clapped him on the shoulder, turning him around and pushing him back into the depths of the stables. “Ready for a bit of fresh air this morning?”

“Yes Swordmaster. My family comes from ranching land. I’ve been riding since I could walk. Some of the younger ones, however, come from the cities,” he said, and waved his free hand at a few of the littler pages. “They are not so intimate with the saddle.”

“Then I expect you to keep an especially sharp eye on them,” Raleigh told him, and started walking him back to the tack room. 

He had kicked the grooms out of the stables before the boys had shown up that morning - any man who couldn’t take his own mount was useless, as far as Raleigh was concerned. Knowing the proper way to adjust your charger’s girth was an essential as knowing how to buckle your armor. Assuredly, it did not come to pass often that he had had to do those things for himself, but in the field, conditions were ever changing and especially on patrols, help could be far distant. The boys had groused at first, and most of them now were making mistakes on crucial things, but at least they seemed to be laughing in equal measure to their yawns.

“Of course, Swordmaster,” he said, and squinted. “May I ask what the intention is? Our last instructor did not do such things.”

“There are a fair number of you, and I cannot do everything alone. We have a chain of command in the field. It is good to learn how to lead and how to follow.”

“But I am no enlisted man.”

“Nor shall you ever be. But we all have somebody above us whom we must obey.”

“The king does not, surely.”

“He answers to the gods,” Raleigh replied, and sensing the boy’s mood, “and also the people. If they do not like him, would they not rise up in revolt?”

Peter scrunched his face up. “I had not thought of it that way.”

“All power is illusory. But we respect him, and he leads us. Now go check the straps on little master Nicholas’ pony. I daresay that girth looks far too loose to stay put.” He strode into the tack room, and back to the small area that housed the tack for Lucky and Eureka. Nothing unusual about custom-made saddles, but these were masterpieces, and Raleigh did not blame the head groom for taking special precautions with them.

The king appeared in the doorway, however, as he was gathering up the gleaming leather. “What is the objective of this little ride, so I do not overstep myself?”

“We do not have quarter staffs suitable for the boys. The armory contains only man-sized models. I had thought it a good exercise to let them cut and shape their own to the right size and weight.”

Hercules nodded. “Understood.”

“Does that meet with your approval, milord?” he asked. He had told himself he did not nee Hercules’ approval, but in his position, he certainly needed the king’s blessing.

“I would not have given them to you if I did not approve of everything you do,” Hercules said with a faint smile.

+++++

It took only a handful of hours to get to the groves that Raleigh remembered from his own youth in those lands. The capitol of Sydney backed against the broad Blue Mountains, lower and sweeter than the icy crags of his own homeland, but of dustier greens and deeper grasses. The day would likely be growing warm down below in the distant plains, but up in the rolling foothills, the air was cool and sweet, laden with the bracing scent of the trees so unique to these lands. 

Raleigh didn’t bother the boys with talk on the ride, focusing instead on ensuring there were no stragglers. He doubted any trouble could come from this direction, opposite the roads that led to the southern seas where the Kaiju had no doubt landed for the tourney, but he was well familiar with ambushes. The king, by comparison, urged Lucky along the trail, out front, as if there were no danger in the world.

Raleigh had always envied him that confidence. 

Hercules had always been a rock. An inspiration. More a father to him than his own father, which did beg the question; what manner of relationship could they really have? What should they have?

It didn’t shame him, though. Only made him long for those things he could not seem to feel any more.

The sound of the horses, however, the jangle of light tack and heavy shoes on the dusty ground...

That made him feel quite uneasy, and he could not relax, all the way to the groves. Menace, it seemed, awaited them at every turn of the winding trail. It was only the king’s presence at the front of the column that kept him from panic.

It took Raleigh the rest of the ride to fight it down. And even at that, dismounting his horse, he did not feel completely comfortable.

“Sound fallen wood is what we’re after, strong and sturdy, that fits right in your hand and is at least half as tall as yourself,” he reminded the small party as they secured their mounts. “Half a dozen if you can. Do not stray too far afield and pair off. I should like to take you all back to the castle.”

It won him a few small laughs, but even Raleigh was aware of how their eyes were on the king, and he shooed them off into the grove.

“They are restless young things, are they not?” the king commented as they watched the boys go. “So full of energy, always looking for the next adventure.”

“I’d give an entire treasure galleon not to have another adventure in my lifetime,” Raleigh said and barely stopped his yawn.

Hercules chuckled. “You are far too young to be so cynical.”

“Age matters less than years lived.”

“This is true. But whatever measure we might be taking of you, Raleigh, you have much left to offer this world,” Hercules said, softer, and for the second time that morning, Raleigh had the distinct feeling that the king was flirting with him. 

He ignored it, turning the conversation instead to more innocent thing, less obvious things. The longer he stayed in one place, the more the groves seemed to lean in, the queer termite mounds that dotted the forest floor growing in his mind in size and darkness. Like Kaiju, perhaps.

All he was carrying was a single-handed calvary saber.

Made him feel bare. Vulnerable.

Even with the reassuring presence of the king at his side, he was glad when the handful of hours were up and they were again on their way home (although not without a good deal of swearing and fumbling; large staves were not meant to be tied to the back of calvary saddles).

That, Raleigh knew, was the reason why he could not be with his king.

Something was wrong. He had gone wrong.

Until it healed, he was useless.

+++++

In truth, slipping into his new role at the Castle Sydney was something of a relief.

In Anchorage, Raleigh could go nowhere, do nothing, without stumbling over the protocols of his position. Somebody who wanted to kiss his hand, some little ceremony to observe, the correct way to phrase his response. He had not thought much of it as a young man, but after his time at the war, the freedom of the front, it had all become distressingly tiresome. 

In Sydney, he was all but invisible. He could come and go through the capitol city as he pleased and nobody gave him a second glance. 

And if that allowed him to slip down to Queen’s Boulevard that evening, plagued still with the unease from the forest, looking for a means to quell it, then Raleigh was quite pleased with it, indeed.

“I should like something sweet,” he told the madame who had greeted him on the Black Pearl’s upper floor, which seemed more like the parlor of a jewelry shop than a whore house. She seemed a bit on edge, already disturbed by the way he had dismissed the serving girl with her tankard of wine. The king had told him no more drink, and Raleigh respected his will utterly on such matters. “Something male, if you should have it.”

She smiled through her painted lips and blackened teeth, the perfumed silks of her dress white but hardly innocent as they spilled across his feet in the lamplight. “I have the sweetest boy, looks just like our Prince, should you desire something unique tonight.”

“Considering I work for the family, I do not think that would be suitable,” he said, as dispassionately as he could.

“Oh, well, for a man of a king, I may have an even finer body for you to take your pleasure in.”

She wasn’t lying about the boy who came to him in the room she led him to. Velvet drapery and the finest linen sheets, and a slim young thing with flashing dark eyes.

In truth, Raleigh had rather enjoyed the time he had spent with his king. Being adored by Hercules. Being petted and fawned over and kissed and _entered_. 

But this one had a fine, sweet mouth, and soft skin, and was nothing like the rugged hardness of Hercules’ worn bones that at least, for a little while, Raleigh could forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And while the King Arthur movie comes out next year, the trailer features plenty of shirtless ~~Raleigh~~ Charlie to hold me over. *Purrs*
> 
> As always, life is insane. Why is that, exactly?


	3. Chapter 3

“Might I steal a moment of your time, Swordmaster?”

It was a woman’s voice - his sister’s, in fact, and Raleigh was quite conscious of how badly he reeked as he came over to the stall door to greet her. “I am, as always, at my princess’s service.”

“Your princess? How about your...”

“Careful, milady,” Raleigh hushed her, glancing up and down the stable hallway before letting himself out. “And by the gods, what is that garment you are clothed in?”

He was careful to only use his right hand on the stall latch. His left hand, and indeed, his entire arm, was quite uncooperative of late, something that was becoming worrisome. As deficient as it already was, he did not wish to experience further wasting of the muscle. 

“You are so paranoid since we left home. I dislike this new version of you immensely.”

But Raleigh couldn’t get past what she was _wearing_. “Is that your nightgown? There is nothing to it.”

Clearly thrown off balance, Jazmine glanced down at herself, as if she had already forgotten her state of complete undress. “Oh, this? This is the latest style from Anchorage. Lady Mako sent it to me as a gift.” And Jazmine did a little twirl in the middle of the straw-strewn stone floor, the trail swirling behind her. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Raleigh resolved to have a word with Charles about this; the princess of the kingdom, the one-day queen, should not be going around half-naked. It honestly did look like a nightgown, made of some soft silk clinging tight to her upper body and bound high on her chest, falling in a way that was reminiscent of Mako’s kimonos, but that hardly excused it. “I can see your bosom,” he said disapprovingly.

“Like you cannot in last decade’s styles.”

“Oh, so it is a decade ago now that you had panniers on?”

“Mako and I are going to start a fashion revolution,” she said with a gleam in her eye. Raleigh did not doubt her for a moment - she was born a Becket and married a Hansen, two families as stubborn and determined as any the Pacific Rim had ever known. 

“You should not drag such fine silk through the stables, Princess,” he said with not a little exasperation. “It will ruin it and how will you enjoy it then?”

“I can have another made. I shall have to have several, regardless. So many pleasing ways to reinterpret Lady Mako’s concept.”

Raleigh leveled a firm glare at her. “Sydney is not so wealthy as Anchorage and the war is far more impactful here in the southern reaches. You cannot be so flippant as your previous king allowed you to be with your things. You must set a good example for your ladies, think of your new homeland and not only yourself.”

She looked down then, and seemed to deflate a bit, noticing the clinging threads of straw around the hem. “Charles said I may have whatever I wish,” she said, less defiant than before, but did gather the train up over her arm. 

“Charles has a blind spot where you are concerned, Princess,” he said gently - happily, truly. It did his heart good to know that both his sister and his foster-brother had found love together.

“I know,” Jazmine replied, her smirk returning.

Raleigh was glad his sister was no longer his and Yancy’s problem alone. And he did need to speak with Hercules about this. No doubt she had not been informed of her allowances, financial or otherwise. “Did you come down here merely to show off this new... fashion you and Lady Mako are inflicting upon the Rim?”

“No, I brought you your gift,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“I left it in the tack room office,” she added. “Shall we open it?

Letting himself out of the stall, Raleigh gave the mare he’d been grooming one more fond stroke. She was heavily pregnant and frustrated with not being put out to pasture with the rest of the herd. It was one of Striker’s offspring she was carrying, and Raleigh felt an obligation to ensure she stayed comfortable. The flies were quite miserable this time of year.

“I smell hideous,” he warned his little sister, leading her down the hallway.

“I do not mind the smell of the stables,” she replied. “Reminds me of Charles.”

“Yes, your husband is an excellent horseman.” Raleigh held the door open for her. There was a wrapped box on the small desk where the head groom handled the paperwork inherent in running such a large operation. The box was almost as long as the desk, but quite thin. 

Jazmine helped herself to one of the creaky leather chairs. “If you had been at supper last night, you could have received it along with everyone else’s. You have not taken supper in the hall for the past month.”

Ah. So that was why she was here. Raleigh shut the door and bolted it. “Sister, you know why I have not.”

“Half the household eats together, and you know that. You stay away because it pleases you to eat alone in your rooms,” she said firmly, and started picking straw from her hem. It would have to be shorted a bit to hide the damage, Raleigh could see. “We get you back, only to have you leave again.”

“I have not gone anywhere,” he replied, picking out the laces holding the box shut.

“But you are not here with me. Should I not have my brother?” she asked, more plaintive. “Am I to have no family in... in this place?”

Leaving the box where it was, Raleigh stepped around the desk to take one of her hands in his. “Sister, you are not alone here. Charles loves you desperately, and from what I hear, you’re quite adored by the ladies at court.”

“Yes, except for all the ones angry that Charles did not make them his princess.”

“You were promised to Charles the moment you were born by our father. Remind them of that, if you must.” She still looked uncertain, and he touched her cheek. “Oh Jazmine, you’re a lady grown and married now. It is your time to make your own family.”

“I suppose,” she huffed.

“Won’t it be a grand thing when you bear Charles his first child?” he asked, leaving her again and undoing the rest of the ties. “He shall love you even more than he... oh.”

It was a sword.

A note tucked into the matte-black hand guard of the pommel.

_Dearest Brother,_

_Please accept this token of our king’s recognition of your new role in King Hercules’ court, forged specifically in the royal armory._

_I have been working extensively with our metallurgists to interpret and apply that which I know of steel-craft from my own family line. We have had many unfortunate endings to experiments, but a few methods are proving successful and I believe we are on the path to improving the quality of our swords for application in this never-ending war. Perhaps we can give our fine soldiers more capability against the Kaiju hordes._

_This blade is the result of one such successful forging. I had them shape it into a form suited for single-hand techniques. I hope it assists you in your new endeavors. Do inform me of any improvements that may yet be made._

_With Love  
Mako_

_P.S.  
My husband was quite against providing you with another sword, but I prevailed. I know how naked you feel without it._

“What is it?” Jazmine asked.

Raleigh noticed the scabbard was thicker than it needed to be, with a wide lip at the top; compensation for his diminished grip strength. It felt good to be able to draw the blade out without pain. “It is a cutlass,” he concluded, squinting down the slight curve of the sword. “Slightly longer than would be appropriate for naval service, but quite acceptable for my needs.”

“Why do you need a sword?”

“Dear sister, I am the castle swordmaster. I could scarce do my job without such a tool,” he said, looking Mako’s words over once more, and tucked the note into the breast pocket of his jacket for safekeeping. She had given one of her father’s masterpieces to Charles for his wedding; Raleigh felt honored to receive one of her own for no occasion more important than the monthly courier. “Has the man who delivered this princely gift yet departed?”

“On tomorrow’s tide.”

“Then I have time to draft a proper thank you note,” Raleigh said, and looked to his sister. “But I have kept you long enough, I fear. Ought you return to this fashion revolution of yours?”

She stood. “I know when I’m being dismissed,” she replied icily. “If you wish nothing to do with me...”

“It has nothing to do with you, sister. The boys...”

“No, I think you wish to have nothing to do with yourself,” she snapped. “And yes, I will see myself out.”

He stood for her, but she couldn’t quite manage the heavy oak door, and Raleigh stepped over to help her push her way out. “Princess,” he began.

But stopped once he saw one of his students out in the stable hall. Marco. Just his luck.

“What is it?” she humphed.

“You should not come down to the stables unless you are going for a ride,” he told her. 

“I would not want to ruin my clothes,” she replied, acid in her voice, and stormed off down the hall.

Raleigh watched her go for a moment, and then left it to deal with the wayward pupil who had invaded his peace. 

“The princess visits you in the stables?” Marco asked, lip curling, before Raleigh could get a word out. Typical. The boy was alarmingly rude when he felt he could get away with it.

Raleigh folded his arms. “Does Doctor Gottlieb no longer hold seminar in the afternoons?”

“He does.”

It was a challenge, and no mistake. “But you fancied a ride instead.”

“I could order you to let me pass.”

“My apologies, little lord, but that is not the way our king runs his castle.”

“What do you care? I need nothing of trigonometry to run my estate.”

“You have no idea what you may or may not need. That is why your king has mandated study,” Raleigh countered, drawing out the last word, but he could see it; Marco wasn’t budging. So he tried another tactic. “I have a new sword, of similar make to Prince Charles’ Nipponese blade. In Nippon, they test blades on prisoners. Line them up and see how many can be felled by a single stroke.”

“Really?” Marco said, a little too interested. Children and their bloodlust.

“Indeed,” Raleigh replied, and he had been slightly nauseated when Mako told him that story. “But obviously this is a free land and our gods frown on such things. What do you say we pay a little visit to the royal pantry? The butcher always has a few hanging sides of beef aging down there.”

It was the first real smile Raleigh had seen on the boy yet.

And yes, the cook grew so upset, she personally fetched Hercules, but all Hercules could do was laugh when he saw the scene. Beef and bones, sliced as if with a razor, scattered about the floor.

“I take it you are enjoying Queen Mako’s gift, eh Swordmaster?” the king asked cheerfully.

Raleigh shrugged. “I regretfully do not have any Kaiju to test it on.”

“I do not regret it,” Hercules said drily. “And young Marco, do you not have lessons?”

The youth bowed a little, one of the practice cutlasses in hand. Raleigh had brought it for comparison, and also to keep the lordling from demanding to handle Mako’s gift and potentially ruin it. He had let Marco take a few swings, but only after amusing himself by letting Marco catch the duller cutlass in the meat first. 

“The swordmaster excused me,” Marco replied.

“That is a lie, Marco, and you know it. You excused yourself and I engaged you with another two hours of sword talk,” Raleigh corrected without acrimony, and looked over at Hercules. “The princess received a lovely new gown from the queen,” he added in a lower voice.

“I saw it,” Hercules said, and then sighed. “She was wearing that... thing? In public?”

“I believe she mentioned a fashion revolution.”

“Indeed.” And Hercules waved a hand around the room. “Perhaps you and your pupil may take a break from the sword lesson to assist the butcher in tidying this up.”

“Of course, sire.”

Marco grumbled all the way through clean up. But it seemed less angry than was usual from the yoputh, so Raleigh considered that a victory. Small, but a victory nonetheless.

+++++

The summer wore on and while Raleigh added swimming lessons to the morning rotations, there was little to be done about the infuriating heat. Nighttime offered little respite, and even with his windows flung open for better air circulation, Raleigh’s chamber was uncomfortably warm.

It did not help with the dreams.

The infernal things had subsided for a few weeks, after he first arrived, but something about the summer heat and his disturbed slumber brought them roaring back. 

“More nights than not, I cannot sleep,” Raleigh finally admitted grudgingly to Doctor Gottlieb one weekend afternoon, in the warm parlor of the man’s own small apartment, when the boys were off causing mischief and nothing more was required of either of them at court.

Hercules had given the natural philosopher a prime location in one of the castle towers, high up near the stars, and a large section of the roof had been thus converted for stargazing. Cut open, the trap doors were ingeniously constructed to allow for closure and thus, normal life. It was a bit breezy most of the time due to this, though. Raleigh did not care for it, but then, he had never minded sleeping in tents, so he did not begrudge the other man his own choices in living quarters.

“Yes, of course. Interesting,” the doctor said, gesturing for Raleigh to take a seat as he retrieved a notebook from his overflowing desk. “Has this happened before?”

Raleigh snorted. “When has it not happened?”

“Did you have such trouble sleeping prior to your time in the war?”

He actually had to think about that. “No,” Raleigh admitted. “It has been since I left.”

“Not while you were there?”

“I do not think so.”

“Interesting.” Gottlieb flipped his book open, _Prince Raleigh_ written across the marbles front in his strong hand; there was a disturbing amount of script in that book. “Now, you know the king has forbidden me from prescribing you laudanum, or anything else that might aid with sleep.”

Raleigh sighed; besides the weak home-brew beer the cook produced, he hadn’t tasted liquor since he got here. Nobody in the castle would allow him within ten yards of the cellars. The better pubs and hotels in town likewise refused to serve him. Yancy must have spoken to Hercules about his folly with hash during the tourney, and Hercules apparently spoke to everyone. “Yes, I am aware.”

“Some people hypothesize that dreams are the gods speaking to us, but I prefer the theory that dreams are our own minds speaking. That which you cannot look at in daylight may be examined in the dark of night,” Gottlieb said, very matter-of-factly. “This may be your mind’s way of extruding the war.”

Ignoring the strange images conjured up by those words, Raleigh considered this. Did the dreams mean he was healing? That his heart might be mending itself? That he might once again find a way to love his king? “I need sleep, Doctor. Everything feels like a dream without it.”

“If your mind is pushing things out, then you may perhaps help it with the process.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you considering writing a memoir of the war? Taking your experience and putting it on paper? Externalizing it, if you will?”

“Is this the done thing?” Raleigh asked warily. There were certainly things from the war that he did not feel needed to be shared, much less seen, by anyone else. Nobody needed to know what he had dealt with. Hell, he wouldn’t have even been going back over any of this, seeking out Gottlieb, had it not been for Hercules.

“I have limited experience with injured men from the front, but I have many ideas on how to assist you.”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Decent men only have so much room in their souls for evil, Prince. If yours has become overgrown with such weeds as that, it must be pruned. Write every day for a week. Let us see if that helps.”

+++++

As sound as the doctor’s advice likely was, Raleigh was loathe to follow it. He had no mind for composition - yes, he could draft requisition orders or issue decrees, but there was no literature in his heart or fingers. And, as an even greater worry, there was always the possibility of somebody finding whatever notes he produced. 

What happened on the battlefield should stay there, Raleigh believed. Nobody living in the relative peace of civilian life needed to be burdened with such things. It was why wars were fought by certain people, in certain places, so the populace needn’t suffer.

(There was always the possibility that he was scared of what might come tumbling out of his head. Raleigh already lived with enough nightmares without dredging up more.)

But some release was needed, and cut off from the most expedient method of obtaining it, Raleigh found himself frequenting the whorehouse more often. It wasn’t everything he needed, much less wanted, yet the detachment he felt in the act of coupling itself reassured him that this was the preferred path. He enjoyed the physical release, but all else seemed locked away, out of reach, and what good would that have been to the king? 

The whorehouse offered him a modicum of comfort, enough to settle the worst of his nerves, calming his mind enough for sleep on the nights he went. He still woke from dreams once in a while, but the lessened frequency was well worth the coin he spent.

An unfortunate side effect of both the sleeplessness and the half-cure, however, was an ever-lessening grip on time. Days had blurred together for a long while, one moment running into the next until everything felt like a half-dream. The mornings were bright, of course, the physical exertion clarifying everything and the demands of his pupils ensuring his full attention, but the evenings especially faded into nothing. Indeed, by the time Raleigh was having to don a cloak for his nightly excursions out into the town, it was only marginally better. 

He still felt lost.

“You seem distracted tonight, my lord,” his catamite observed, about a fortnight after that conversation with Gottlieb, their main business for the night already concluded. The boy was still naked, his milky-white skin pale against the patterned Nipponese silk sheets. The madame was still allowing Raleigh the best room in the house, whenever he desired it. “Was I not good enough?”

“I have never found you lacking,” Raleigh told him, trying to gather his own thoughts. What was it Gottlieb had said to him? About truths in the night? “You are quite sufficient.”

“But I could be more than that,” the boy said, rolling closer. “I can be anything you want me to be.”

“You can’t be him.”

The catamite smiled, and leaned over to kiss Raleigh. “I can make you forget all about him, whoever he is.”

“Honestly, my boy, tell me how this is better than smoking hash with the goddamn Gage twins?”

It was Hercules’ voice, but Hercules wasn’t there. The sound of it was so present, so close...

Raleigh excused himself.

He was still adjusting his clothes as he hit the streets.

Dreaming while awake. He hated this sleeplessness.

And he hated the ache in his arm, the numbness in his fingers, the fog in his heart. He wanted to feel something, and not just the cobblestones under his boots or the chill of the air.

He wanted to be whole again.

He wanted his lover back.

Raleigh’s mind may have been lost in a fugue, but his feet knew where to go, and he was passing back through the keep gates before he even realized he’d left Queen’s Boulevard, through the wide courtyard, past the public halls, into the private family wing, where Hercules’ own chambers lay.

Traveling through, he heard his lord’s voice in a side room - the library - and stopped at the half-open door.

It was something of a shock to see Marco there, bent over double in one of the huge wing back chairs, a messenger of some sort in mud-splattered riding clothes talking to Hercules in hushed tones.

“Son,” Hercules said, holding out a hand to the boy in the chair.

But Marco just sprang to his feet and rushed out of the room, nearly bowling Raleigh over in his haste. Raleigh did not get a good look at him, but it seemed as if he was in tears.

Hercules followed him rather more sedately, eyes resigned.

“May I inquire what is wrong with the boy?” Raleigh asked quietly. “May I help?”

But the king’s eyes just swept over him, and looked away again. “You can bathe after leaving the whorehouse. If you intend to indulge in such depravities I would prefer you not infect the pages with them. You reek. Excuse me.”

“Of course, milord,” Raleigh said, and stepped aside, thoroughly humiliated.

When he woke in the morning for lessons, he half-hoped he had dreamed the whole thing. 

Judging from Marco’s mood - even more villainous than usual - Raleigh was fairly sure that he hadn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

As royal fosters, Raleigh and Yancy had not been subject to the same rooming conditions as the other boys At Hercules' court. They had maintained separate apartments, private chambers they shared only with each other and Charles, who, at four years younger than Raleigh and seven than Yancy, had been constantly on the prowl for their company in the most annoying manner possible. Most of the pages, the ones taken from Sydney's own noble families, shared a dormitory, or, if Hercules was greatly irritated with them, tents on the jousting field. 

It was there Raleigh went looking for his pupil, the morning after the disasterous blow-up.

Marco had not at all been himself that morning, or rather, he had been so himself Raleigh was finally able to recognize it for the bald lie that it was. The boy was terribly anguished about something, desperate to hide it, and whatever was going on, he needed to know. Truly, it was none of his business, but he wished to help in whatever small measure he could.

What he didn't expect, however, was finding the boy preparing for a departure. Attending to his gear, while a few of the liveried attendants packed his clothes and other small items into cloth bags.

"Does his majesty know that you're using his servants in such manner?" Raleigh asked, not bothering to so much as knock. Frankly, he was weary of the constant rudeness from the boy.

"Who are you to speak to me in such a haughty manner?" Marco demanded.

Raleigh ignored it. "Somebody who is concerned for his student."

"You've barely been my instructor two months."

"What news did you receive last night that had you so upset?"

Marco looked at him, as if considering this offer, and then his face went black. "Fuck you and fuck your fake concern! Remove yourself from my presence before I have it removed!"

Raleigh had never, never in his life, had anybody speak to him in such manner. Even the Kaiju, who knew and loathed him, afforded him a modicum of respect by that loathing. Marco was a seething ball of hate, and it made absolutely no sense at all.

"Leave us," he told the servants, who were putting on a good show of pretending to not listen.

"Master," one of them started.

Raleigh just glared at the man. "Out," he ordered, and when Marco opened his mouth to protest, he leveled a finger at the boy. "And you, sit."

"Who are you..."

"I'm the man your king entrusted your very life to, so by the gods, you are going to do as I say!"

Amazingly, the boy actually stopped. Swayed for a moment where he was standing, and then sank down on top of the chest he'd been packing. "Leave me alone," he grumbled, running his hands into his hair.

Raleigh was not, by nature, a confrontational man. Yancy had always been the brother to actively fight against their father's injustices; Raleigh had always made the effort to keep the peace, and when he couldn't, he was more given to leaving than stay. It was likely the reason, he surmised, that he ran to the front when things went so terribly wrong with his king, instead of staying. 

"I see much of myself in you," Raleigh told the boy. It seemed like a good place to start. "But what I cannot understand is why your behavior is so disgusting of late."

Marco did not reply for a long while, and Raleigh was almost on the brink of giving up, when another voice piped up from the back of the long barracks.

"His brother died at sea last month," Calum said. He was sitting cross-legged on his bunk; Raleigh wondered how long he had been there. He was always willing to be of help, which Raleigh appreciated in him greatly; no doubt he had been waiting for his own chance to speak to his arrogant classmate. "We only received the news last night."

Marco still did not speak. 

"What happened?" Raleigh asked.

Calum shrugged. "The Kaiju. It was your last brother, was it not, Marco?"

"Stop talking," Marco finally grumbled, but his voice was thick with grief. 

"Marco's the youngest in his family," Calum continued, "but he's the last left now. Youngest of five."

"They all died in the war?"

Calum nodded. "His second-eldest was the most recent death. His family tried to recall him, but he said he couldn't leave the fleet, too short on qualified officers that they were. That was..."

"Stop! Talking!" Marco yelled, and promptly burst into tears.

It took Raleigh half an hour to get the full story out of Marco himself, and another hour to calm him down. Nothing out of the ordinary for these times, sadly enough, but every man's pain was his own, and whatever Marco was feeling, it was a matter of his heart and his heart alone. Raleigh didn't quite know what to say, but once he got the boy talking, it seemed the words would not stop, and he did not have to offer a thing on his own. 

It was tragic, really. He couldn't himself imagine what it would be like to lose Yancy - not only the agony of it, but the responsibility, the weight, that would come crashing down on him.

Raleigh had no idea if that was what Marco was feeling.

Perhaps it didn't matter.

"Anger does not help with the grief," Raleigh told his pupil softly, once the discordant flow of words and emotions finally petered out. "Rage has never helped any man overcome what problems he finds before him."

Marco looked at him, bleary. "I believe I may still order you out, can I not?"

"If you want me gone, I am gone," Raleigh said wearily, and stood. "If that is how you deem it appropriate to speak to those who would wish you well on your upcoming journey."

"I have to go home," he mumbled, like he was embarrassed, and his eyes were beginning to glass again. "I have to take care of the estate."

"That might be the first unselfish thought I have ever heard you utter," Raleigh replied. "That is a better attitude for a young lord to carry."

Marco just nodded, as if he had not the energy to do anything else, and Raleigh left him then, satisfied that at least the boy wouldn't be alone on the roads out of Sydney, angry and unthinking.

Calum, however, followed him out.

""Have you lost family to the war, Swordmaster?" He asked, rather blunt, nipping at Raleigh's heels.

"I scarsely think that is any of your business," Raleigh said crisply, headed out of the castle wing that housed the barracks, back towards his own apartment. 

Calum followed. "I do not mean to be rude. The younger boys have been wondering..."

Raleigh paused long enough to shoot him a look. "You have been wondering."

"We are curious. His majesty has told us you are a hero in Anchorage, but nothing more than that."

"I almost got my own brother killed through my own stupidity, out at the front," Raleigh told him. "I cannot fathom what it would be like to lose him. I grieve for your friend."

"It is not just the death. His father passed from Blue poisoning years back. Some of the other families have been circulating the idea of absorbing his land holdings. His mother has held out this long, with the master of the estate gone, but..."

"Quite the predicament for his family."

"Yes, Swordmaster."

Raleigh wished somebody had informed him sooner of the problems plaguing his pupil. Marco's deplorable attitude made somehwat more sense; he could have handled it differently, he believed, had he understood. "I did not know."

"It's all politics, Swordmaster. You have the luxury of not worrying about it," Calum replied, without a trace of arrogance in his voice; he truly meant well, Raleigh could tell.

"We all must obey politics," Raleigh told him. "No man, no matter how lowly his station, escapes their reach."

"Do you consider your station lowly?"

"No," he answered, and knew the words true as he spoke them. "It's my honor, passing what skills I have along, that you might survive this war."

"I do not want to survive the war, Swordmaster," the boy said, serious. "I want to win it."

 _There is no winning_ , Raleigh heard his own mind whisper. But that was hardly something to say to a fifteen year old.

That evening, instead of making his usual stop, Raleigh turned left instead of right, up through the twisting streets to the temple complex that occupied the top of one of the city's hills. Perhaps it was some crisis of spirit, or the disturbing parallel of Marco's dead brother to Yancy, or the suggestion of the coming festival, but whatever the cause, he soon found himself amongst the marble pillars of worship.

Sydney and Anchorage, with similar parentage in a long-dead kingdom far to the east, worshipped many of the same gods, albeit it in different ways. The temples of Sydney were likewise not as grand as Anchorage's, and anyway, Raleigh did not put much stock in the gods. Despite all the old stories, he had yet to see one on the battlefield, saving their people from the Kaiju. Still, he felt moved to go, beyond even hunger or the other desires of his body.

Twilight was the best time to offer prayers to the clthonic gods, the ones who watched the land and guarded the dead. He knew not all the names of Sydney's, differing from his own homeland as they did, but a priestess showed him the way to the sea guardians' chapel, cut back into the rock of the hill. These, at least, he felt comfortable amongst, having asked for Yancy's safe passage many times when his brother was out with the navy himself. 

He lit a candle for Marco's brother, and on his way out, stopped at the grand pavilion that housed the ancestral masks of the ruling families. Raleigh had never asked Marco what family he came from, so he said a prayer before the entire wall, hoping that the boy might find some peace in his new role.

He saw nothing, however, and felt even less. That numbness had descended again. He wondered, on his way back, if he had been seeking something for the boy he hardly knew, or for himself.

The gods had not saved Yancy, the night they were ambushed on the road. Raleigh doubted they would save him now. Perhaps he was out of favor. Perhaps they simply didn't care.

His dinner was on the little table in his apartment when he returned, long after dark. Or rather, his lack of dinner, as the cloche held nothing under it but a sealed letter. This earned his full attention.

_The king requests your presence at the evening meal tonight, seven PM sharp._

Raleigh had lingered overlong at the temples; it was nine.

There was nothing he could do about the tardiness, and indeed, it would likely only enrage Hercules if he went now. Raleigh resolved himself to going to bed without supper, like a chastised child.

He wondered, as he stripped down for sleep, if Yancy would be angry with him if he left. Walked off, and effectively vanished.

Probably.

That night, Raleigh did not dream, and woke only barely in time for the morning lesson. It was the first full night of sleep he had had in a long, long time, even if he didn't realize it until later.

+++++

Despite Raleigh's fears to the contrary, Hercules was quite polite the next day, when he apologized to the king for his failure to show for dinner.

"If you were at the temples, then you were where you needed to be," Hercules told him. "I suppose you have heard of Marco's family tragedy?"

"Yes milord."

"He says you spoke with him at length."

"He did most of the speaking, milord."

"It is a shame. His father was a good friend. I always cared for his sons."

 _And you ordered them to their deaths._. Hercules didn't need to say it aloud for Raleigh to know it, feel it. It hung like a shroud in the room.

"Is that what you wished to discuss with me?" Raleigh asked cautiously.

Hercules twitched a bit - likely not perceptible to anyone who did not know him well, but for Raleigh, the discomfort was apparent. "No, but I am grateful for you For it." 

"Then..."

"I had wished to ask you about the upcoming autumnal festivities. We start the harvest season with the hunt next week." 

Raleigh had forgotten about that. The hot summer fading, it was time for honoring the gods of the hunt, of the mountains and the sea. Anchorage, like Sydney, took the season very seriously. Their nations' strength depended on the bounty nature provided. But was this what they had been reduced to, he and his king? Passing messages through the dinner plate, as if they could not speak directly?

He was the one who had violated the relationship, Raleigh supposed. Hercules had confessed his love, and he - after years of desiring those affections - had not been able to return in kind.

Back when he and Yancy were fosters, Father had impressed upon them the seriousness of such rituals, and levied the expectation that they were to participate in everything as they would at home. Their father - and Yancy - viewed religion as merely another tool of politics, something required to maintain felicitous civil society. Hercules was a bit more serious about it.

But even after the trip to the temples, Raleigh knew in his heart whom he loved more. Whom he wished to please above all others.

Whom he had no doubt mightly disappointed with the trips to the whorehouse.

"I will be there in whatever capacity my king requires," Raleigh replied softly. 

"Raleigh, if you do not wish..."

"It's my duty as prince," he said. "Your gods would be quite displeased If visting royalty failed to acknowledge their primacy."

"Good," Hercules said, a small and rare smile crossing his face. "That is good."

The moment was awkward, and Raleigh longed for the strength to cross the distance between them and touch his lover once again. He could not, though, paralyzed in the king's study in a pool of September sunlight. "Milord, about last night..."

Hercules cut him off. "As much as I might wish otherwise, dear boy, I do not own you. If that is what you need...have it."

There was something disappointing about it. If Hercules but held out his hand, Raleigh knew, he would not have the strength to stop himself from falling into it. He felt like a man without bones. "Yes, milord. Was there anything else you required of me?"

If Hercules was disappointed, it didn't show on his face. "The hunt is on Wednesday, the morning of the solstice. See to it that everything is prepared with the horses. I trust you more than my stablemaster."

+++++

In Anchorage, holidays were always celebrated with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. Orchestras and richly decorated avenues, open air markets and the sweet smell of food, ladies competing with each other in dresses ordered up to a year in advance, children playing in the streets and all businesses closed, balls in the evenings and the baccanalia atmosphere erasing, for a little while, the harsh realities of life so close to the frozen crown of the world.

Sydney was both more subdued and more pious; here, prayers and observances tended to play a larger role in the celebrations. Both farmers and bakers charged top dollar for sacrifical offerings, and the temples were crowded as the holds of the crabbing boats come back from deep Anchorage waters. Raleigh had found it boring as a boy. That year, he only found himself growing more anxious as the day for the sunrise hunt approached.

He could not put his finger exactly on what was causing him to feel that way, and in truth, he did not care. It was one of those disconcerting little twinges of thought, A spasm of battle fatigue he wished not to have, and so he pushed it aside, pouring himself instead into training and preparation alike, exhausting himself to the point where he did not even dream at night.

It seemed to have settled by the morning of the hunt, and he found himself swept up instead by Charles' own infectious enthusiasm. 

"When do you think he shall be ready to begin training in earnest?" his brother asked Raleigh, paused just inside the stall of the yearling Yancy had gifted his as a wedding present. "I do long to see how he will do on the field."

"The stablemaster is working with him on taking a saddle, but stallions, even the young ones, are quite stubborn," Raleigh told him. His arms were full of Charles' tack, riding jacket banished for the moment and shirt sleeves rolled up. He wasn't about to trust his little brother's mount to one of the grooms; week before last, he had found a loose girth on one of his students' saddles. "I do expect, come this time next year, he will have taken it to well."

Charles rubbed his young horse's nose; the horse knickered back and nudged at his hand, likely looking for more treats. "Stubborn, eh? He fits in well here, then."

"Why do you think Yancy chose him for you?" Raleigh replied wryly And moved on down the stable row, to where Charles' current mount was kept. A fine mare, to be sure, but hardly a match for the war horse currently nuzzling more oatmeal and molasses bites from the laughing prince. Gangly thought the yearling still was, he'd no doubt be over eighteen hands, just like his sire.

Yancy had been quite insistant on Charles receiving one of Gipsy's colts; the memory filled Raleigh with regret. Calvary had been trending lighter, leaner, favoring agility over bulk, until the Kaiju attacks had begun in earnest. The breeds developed for heavy armor had to be brought back into service, no longer reserver for the tourney field and historical curiosities. Father was not the only man to resume a breeding program in earnest, but his stables had been some of the most successful, and Yancy had raised Gipsy himself practically from the moment of the horse's birth. 

But reliving half-forgotten pains willingly seemed a fool's errand, when so many insisted on asserting themselves spontaneously, and Raleigh pushed it aside. The lightness of the hunting saddle in his hands helped with that; the smooth leather of the slight seat would never have to serve as protection against a Kaiju blade.

The day was just beginning to grow warm, the sun calmer in the first days of autumn, when Raleigh and Charles led their horses out into the stable yard. Away from the quiet corner where the family kept their own mounts, the stables were a flurry of activity that morning, and the yard even more so. Nobles were assembling from all over the capitol, some even ridden in from the closer estates to join in on the day's hunt, and the din was extraordinary.

"Charles!" And Jasmine rushed towards them out of the throng of horses and men, throwing her arms carelessly around her startled husband. "You slipped away without saying good morning to me!"

Charles hugged her back one handed, his mare skittering a bit to the side at the sight of the excited girl and her fluttering skirts. She had, Raleigh was glad to know, generally taken the advice on wastefulness, but that morning she had her own riding habit on, and the skirts were made for the extended height of a horse.

"Of course, love, but there was so much to be done..."

She shut him up with a kiss, and Raleigh rolled his eyes, tugged at her sleeve.

"I did not know you were coming with us," he said pointedly. 

She humphed, and pulled away from Charles, smoothing down her jacket sleeve. "It is only to the gates. I have no desire to see you slay some poor kangaroo."

"It pleases the gods," Charles told her. "To know that we honor the bounty they've given us."

"I've also never seen you complain about the dinner board," Raleigh added.

She folded her arms. "It's still sad."

"The males grow large and belligerant. Too many wrecks the herds. Like Charles said, all things in balance," Hercules told her, coming up alongside, Calum in tow. The boy was positively brimming with excitement, Raleigh could see. "Have you seen the falconer, son?"

Charles shook his heaD. "It is a madhouse this morning, Father."

"It is always a madhouse," Hercules grumbled, and looked at the boy. "Remain here. I must attend to that falcon."

"I should take my leave as well," Jazmine said, and nodded to Charles. "Before somebody orders the grooms to take the saddle off my mare for my own safety."

Raleigh knew it was a jab at him, And tried without success to suppress a sigh.

"Of course, love," Charles said, pulling her for one quick kiss.

She giggled when she pushed him away again, and instead of offering Raleigh her hand, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Be safe out there," she whispered in his ear. "No suicidal heroics," and she nodded at his saddle.

Where, in addition to his long-bored musket, he had his sword tied.

"Attend to your mare, princess. We shall all be quite fine."

She wasn't two paces away, the sea of busy men parting respectfully around her, that Raleigh noticed Calum's eyes on him again If the boy was wondering anything, however, he did not give it voice.

"How do you find the long gun, Swordmaster?" Calum asked instead.

"Tetchy, imprecise, in need of much perfecting," Raleigh told him. "Little better than forged steel arrowheads from a long bow"

"We have been working on the technology with the natural philosopher," Charles added. He had his own bow and quiver tied to his saddlhorn. Most of the nobles would likely be riding with the same. "Cannon have great applicaton at sea. Land engagements against our current enemy require greater manueverability, and accuracy is shameful."

The boy nodded, absorbing that. "Is it your arm, Swordmaster?"

Raleigh smiled ruefully. He had no idea that Charles was working on such things with Gottlieb; perhaps Jazmine was correct in assuming him out of touch. It did seem a practical measure, though, and perhaps a deeper study into firearms would be required at some point. 

"How well my pupils know me," he told Charles, somewhat more bitter than he intended.

"They tell us they are very fond of you" Charles replied.

Calum nodded.

Raleigh found fault with his girth, and immediately excused himself in order to correct the error.

+++++

Hercules found his hunting hawk at last, the release of the bird the signal for the hunt to begin, and all seemed well as they rode out of the city. It was too early for much fanfare, but those setting up for the day’s festivities did drop their work to bow respectfully for their royal family, their king in front and their crown prince and princess just behind. If part of Raleigh wished he was at that king’s side, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Perhaps, one day, when his mind was at rights again, when he could sleep through the night without waking in cold sweats, in the grip of fear he had never felt so brutally on the battlefield, he could join them again. As it was, he was pleased to be with Calum, who kept up a steady stream of questions on the ride out through the gates of the capitol, through the broad plains, and out towards the king’s own hunting grounds.

Passing through those markers, the tight column began spreading out, soldiers fanning far out, while the nobles and their dogs hastened forth into the shallow grasses. Raleigh held back somewhat, keeping pace with Calum, who, as a youth not yet risen to the head of his house, was not allowed to participate in the sacrificial kill.

He kept silent, mostly, as the hounds picked up a scent, a small herd of the giant reds, but he clearly watched the king’s party wistfully as they loosed their horses after the racing beasts. Raleigh spurred his mount into a trot, and Calum did likewise, despite his obvious eagerness.

Of the hunt and kill itself, Raleigh had little concern. The gods of harvest always sent the proper animal - usually an elk back home, here, likely one of those red kangaroo, and unerringly a buck - and the animal always fell as it was meant to. He had little concern for the moment itself; normally, he scarcely though about it. It had been Yancy’s job. And, out in the field, if hunting was needed, the junior officers always attended to it for him.

It was all rather boring, he thought, as they neared the tightening circle of horses and men.

It was a rout of confusion. Dust rising into the morning sky, the mingled sounds of animals screaming, the scent of sweat and rage and blood and battle...

And he forgot entirely where he was.

+++++

Charles only got the story after the fact, after his father had killed the morning’s buck and they were headed back to rejoin the main column, but from what he heard, it sounded rather bad.

Raleigh had been rather quiet all morning. He had not seemed entirely himself as they had left the city, Charles had thought, but then, Raleigh not seeming himself was nothing new. Charles had paid it no mind, but apparently, Calum had been quite attentive to it. So when Raleigh had begun acting especially agitated, color fading from his face and horse dancing nervously under him, Calum had swung around to ask him what was the matter.

Specifically, the boy had said - rather calmly, for the blood on his face - he touched his swordmaster on the sleeve.

And Raleigh had hit him. Hard. With the butt of his long gun. Then taken off across the fields.

Charles and his father had found the boy on the ground, the two guards who had been with them attending to him with great concern, and Raleigh nowhere to be found.

“Where’d the bastard go?” Charles had demanded.

They’d shown him, pointing off to the northern foothills. Together with one of his men, he’d set off in that direction.

An hour it had taken them to hunt down the errant prince of Anchorage, and Charles’ mind was alive the entire way, turning over this puzzle of what had happened to Raleigh. Of course, Raleigh would never intentionally hurt one of his pupils; nearest Charles could reckon, it was some manner of fugue state he was lost in. The same type of fits used to take Uncle Scott from time to time, after had had come home from the war.

It was an infuriating affair, and Charles wished Father would let him knock Raleigh on his arse good and proper. Set him straight. All this moping about would do him no good. There was no shame in killing Kaiju, especially not as prodigiously as Raleigh had, and Charles could think of nothing more horrible than losing his mother and two younger sisters to those cursed raiders’ insanity. Fuck them. These moods his brother was so taken with needed to end.

All thoughts of anger faded somewhat, however, when he finally found Raleigh’s mount, at the edge of the forest, Raleigh himself a miserable lump sunk at the base of one of the great eucalyptus. His hair had come unbound from its low, neat braid, his fingers dug up through its sweaty locks.

“Milord,” the Home Guard sent with Charles began, but Charles silenced him with a wave, dismounted, and handed him the reins.

Whatever Raleigh was going through, Yancy had not entrusted him to their house for Raleigh to go through it alone.

“Brother,” Charles said loudly, approaching carefully, hand on the pommel of his calvary saber. “Brother, you abandoned the hunt. Father is quite displeased.”

Raleigh only dug further into himself, body tightening as if trying to protect his ears from the words.

“You must stop this foolishness. The woods are not safe. Get your arse back on your horse and get yourself back to the castle with me,” he said. He was close enough to nudge Raleigh with a boot. So he did. “You...”

Raleigh startled, jumping sideways and nearly crashing into another tree, still in his miserable crouch. Charles stood there, arms folded, wondering what the hell was going on.

“Look at me,” he ordered, more out of curiosity to see if it would work than anything else. “Raleigh, brother, look at me.”

Raleigh took a deep breath, but didn’t look up. “Give me a moment Charles, please.”

“Not a chance. You ruined the hunt.”

And that did get his eyes up. “The hunt?”

“Yes, the hunt. You remember the hunt?”

Raleigh licked his lower lip, eyes not quite focused, and rubbed a hand over his face. He was quite pale. “I thought... there was a battle.”

“Not since the summer route at the tourney,” Charles said, frowning. “Why would you think that?”

“I do not know. It seemed... I do not know, there was a battle.”

“If there was a battle, why would you run from it?”

“Charles,” and there was real pain in the word. “Charles, please, I... I cannot. I cannot.”

Charles squatted down beside him, considering. He had no way with words. Perhaps Jazmine could talk some sense into him, but Jazmine, sadly, was not there. “Whatever it was, I reckon it was in your mind, and your mind alone.”

Raleigh snorted, but finally seemed to noticed where he was. “My mind is a wasteland.”

 _So it would seem,_ Charles thought to himself, but even he knew that would do nothing to get Raleigh back on his horse. “Father will be quite put out if we are any more delayed than we already are.”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Raleigh nodded. “You are right, of course. Would not do to disappoint the king,” he agreed. He tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him and Charles had to help him up.

On the ride back, much longer due to Raleigh’s path of flight, neither of them much spoke. Raleigh was leaden in his saddle, and more than once, Charles had to adjust his own pace to ensure his brother did not fall off his mount like a sack of so many melancholy potatoes. Fortunately, there were no further incidents of battle hallucinations; by the time they were passing back through the city gates, he seemed quite composed.

Charles was relieved to see it.

Father really would be quite put out if Raleigh continued insisting on these strange moods.

For himself, Charles had never developed much affection for King Richard of Anchorage. Cold he had been, distant and unconcerned with Charles’ presence during his foster days, except where it benefitted him politically. Charles had never thought of his own father as a particularly warm man, their shared grief more vital to their relationship than any other feeling, but Yancy and Raleigh had soaked up his attention as boys. Even now, the bond between Father and Raleigh seemed quite strong.

Charles knew it disturbed Father to see Raleigh in his current broken state. It disturbed Father more than Raleigh was carrying on with whores, not that Father had said anything about it. It was the tension in his jaw that had been the giveaway, when Charles informed him of the latest gossip from the madame.

(It was not as if Charles had never visited the place. Of course he had. So of course he knew where to send the money by which he purchased some of the most valuable information in the capitol, and she was far from the only person he bought gossip from. He wouldn’t be much of a king some day if he didn’t know what was going on in his own cities.)

Charles had left out the part where Raleigh was supposedly only availing himself of the male stock there. He was not sure Father wished to know that part. Such things were, of course, permitted, but... it just did not seem right, passing that along to Father.

“You should not worry about the temple ceremonies,” Charles finally said, when they were nearly back to the stables, where an army of grooms were no doubt already hard at work on everybody else’s mounts. “But Father will expect you, and I both, at the feast tonight.”

“Charles,” Raleigh asked in an odd voice, pulling up short of the courtyard.

“Yes, brother?”

“Did I hurt anybody?”

Charles hesitated; Calum had been talking just fine, the amount of blood pouring from the wounds on his temple no doubt superficial. Head wounds always bled greatly. However, Raleigh had at least fifty pounds on the boy, most of it muscle, and Raleigh knew how to land a blow. He very well could have broken Calum's jaw. The boy had gotten off easy.

It did not seem that such an explanation would be of much comfort to Raleigh.

“Nothing that cannot be fixed,” he reassured Raleigh, and urged his mount forward again. He felt a little twinge of pride at the political way in which he answered; Father said he must start being more political. “I shall head to the baths myself after this. Would you like to come with me?”

“No, thank you. I shall... I think I shall put away my mount myself.”

Charles left him at the stables, handing off his own reins to one of the grooms, watching his brother for a few moments. Raleigh moved as if he was in pain, favoring his injured side, but he was still murmuring to his horse, stroking the great beast’s flank.

There was nothing more Charles could do. And he had his own duties to perform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I had no idea it had been so long since I updated this. I am so sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

Raleigh was torn between locking himself forever in his chamber out of shame, or attending the feast for no other reason than to apologize to Calum. 

Of course he did go to the feast - after he had had a long soak in the private baths, trying to pull his bruised thoughts back together - if for no other reason than to assuage his sister that everything was at rights with him. He stayed exactly as long as he needed to for the king to register his presence, and then hightailed it out of there. 

The press of the throng in the main feast hall, after the strange episode of the morning, was almost more than he could bear; the only thing he wished to do was hide. But even his chamber seemed too tight, the stone walls too close, the still air suffocating.

Nothing was right in his head. And he had proved it not just to the entire court, and his pupils, but also his king.

It was humiliating.

One thing about his little apartment that Raleigh both loved and hated was that it lay on the far end of the stables; he had to walk through the main row of stalls to reach the staircase. It had been built as the stablemaster’s quarters, so access to the horses, not the keep, was the paramount concern.

That evening, he didn’t make it back to his bed. 

He lingered for a while amongst the stalls, mostly watching Charles’ wedding gift pace his stall. The yearling was spirited thing, a personality befitting a war horse evident in his clever eyes from the moment of his foaling, and Raleigh had picked him out personally. He was so alike to his sire, Yancy’s beloved Gipsy, that it hurt to see him.

The yearling nickered at him. Raleigh held out a hand, and a blunt nose pushed into it. Likely looking for some kind of treat. The horse accepted the affection in its place for a few moments, and then trotted back to his grain bucket, head-butting it in frustration.

“I’ll see if the feed room is open,” he told the yearling, who whinneyed back. Raleigh chuckled a little, the weight of the past temporarily forgotten.

But then he noticed his mare had been put away wet.

“Fucking grooms,” he muttered to himself,. 

She had mud on her back, sweat cooled and mixed with the dust of the plains. Whoever had untacked her and put her back had not attended to her needs at all. She had come with the entourage from Anchorage, bred in the king’s own stables there, but that would not have meant anything to the grooms here. As far as they knew, she was the horse of the swordmaster and nothing more. She would not have been a priority. 

Although, of course, it could have been his fault. Raleigh could not for the life of him remember the ride home. Only Charles there, talking to him in with all the bored arrogance of a prince, reaching down through the haze of bloodshed that had overtaken him, and then the baths later.

It occurred to Raleigh that he had not given her a name, or if she had one, he did not know it. She was merely the horse Yancy had left with him. He knew nothing about her, but she had been kind enough to stay with him that day, when his mind had broken, when the memories had overwhelmed the waking world.

She looked up from her hay long enough to look at him, something expectant in her expression, and he sighed. 

He grabbed a few oat treats along with her grooming bucket, and she munched away contentedly as he got to work on the muddy mats in her coat. Those took quite a while to work out with the curry comb, and then there was the dust clinging to every inch of her, and her nose was a mess, and her hooves hadn’t been tended to, and before long, Raleigh’s pocket watch told him an hour and a half had gone by. 

Gathering her kit, he meant to leave, but the mare nuzzled his sleeve. Perhaps looking for more treats. 

Raleigh put her grooming bucket away, and fetched her back another handful of oats, but something about standing there, letting her eat from his hand while smoothing her freshly-cleaned mane, broke him. His eyes began to sting, and before he could stop himself, he was hanging on to her for dear life, sobbing. 

The mare didn't move, didn't seem bothered at all. Just let him stand there and cry like he was fourteen again, watching his mother's casket be lowered down into the cold ground. Even then, Yancy had elbowed him, just in time for their father to tell him it was unbecoming for a prince of the realm to bawl like a child. The mare, the mare, she could have cared less.

Closing his eyes, forehead falling to her neck, Raleigh could not recall a time when he had felt so un-judged.

+++++

Hercules had a mind to go by the stables in the morning, before the early ceremonial march to the temple began, where the pelt from the kangaroo yesterday would be burnt to honor the gods. If he had been born his own man, some sergeant in the army instead of the supreme commander, Hercules thought he would choose to avoid such pomp and circumstance. Yet the king was not his own man, but the people’s, and he always did his duty.

He told himself it was about the horses, but, of course, he was worried about Raleigh. His Raleigh. Charles’ report on Raleigh’s state, when found, had put Hercules in mind of Scott. Perhaps there was something about this war, the poisons the Kaiju used or some such thing, that affected men more than any war before. It bored further examination.

But in the end, Hercules was worried about Raleigh for entirely selfish reasons. He still thought of the boy as _his boy_. Besides, if he was beset by the same strange moods that had taken Scott, well...

It was not as if Hercules could afford to lose a second keep swordmaster in six months. He had not given the position to Raleigh out of the kindness of his heart. It allowed him to keep one of his able-bodied officers out in the field.

He didn’t have to go all the way up to Raleigh’s apartment to find him, however.

It appeared that the boy had collapsed in one of the stalls, the Anchorage mare watching over him. Hercules stopped at the door, glancing down, where Raleigh’s head was pillowed on her hay.

Waking him up, in such a vulnerable - embarrassing - position did not seem the done thing. And Gottlieb had said more than once, in his weekly reports, that Raleigh was having trouble falling and staying asleep.

No, he would leave him be.

"Watch over him for me," he told the big roan mare, who was still watching him from across the stall, and took his leave.

He could have Gottlieb talk to Raleigh about the episode, he supposed. But whether this intentional isolation was good for him or not, Hercules had not the slightest idea. 

Besides, he had made his own feelings on the matter quite clear, had he not? As far as Hercules was concerned, the offer of marriage, along with the love that had prompted it, was most assuredly still Raleigh's. 

It was up to Raleigh, then, to decide what he wanted.

Eight months. That was the time left on Yancy's pledge of service. Hercules did not want Raleigh to go back to Anchorage at the end of it, but he did not know how to make it any more clear that he wished Raleigh to stay. Preferrably, as consort.

Perhaps the boy would come around. That would be very nice indeed.

And it wasn't as if Raleigh was the most serious of Hercules' worries. In some ways, this was a distraction the king could ill afford.

+++++

To Raleigh’s amazement, not only did Calum forgive him on Monday morning, but apologize.

“I must beg your forgiveness, Swordmaster,” the boy said, as Raleigh was gathering up the day’s weaponry from the workbenches in the armory. He had deliberately made the morning more leisurely. _In honor of the holiday, we shall discuss the proper way to clean and care for your arms_ , he’d told the boys, but truly, he was disturbed by how painfully swollen Calum’s face still was. 

He was so surprised, he almost dropped his armload of wooden practice swords. “Whatever could you mean, Master Calum?”

The boy kicked at the ground. “I... I should not have interrupted you when I did, on the hunt. It was clear you were discomforted, and if I did anything...”

“It is I who hit you,” Raleigh told him carefully, unsure of why this was happening. “You bear no responsibility for that.”

Calum nodded, and looked up at him. “My father sent word yesterday via the courier. He is arriving this afternoon for an audience with the king.”

“Oh? What about?”

His student shrugged. “He will be at the king’s table tonight.”

Hercules did not keep a formal court, but the Australians had always valued hospitality; any high-ranking guests to the capitol were welcome at the supper board Hercules put on every night. Of course.

Hell, why was the boy telling him this?

“Swordmaster?”

“Yes, Calum. I will keep that in mind.”

Raleigh was not stupid enough to have missed the boy's meaning; Calum clearly wanted him to meet his father, for whatever strange reason that might be. Calum's family was from the northern shores, and his father had no doubt been on the road for at least a week. Traveling through the feast of the hunt was no small affair. Something serious had to be afoot in those lands, and far more important than meeting the king's swordmaster.

 _There is no reason to sully his arrival with your presence,_ Raleigh tried to reason. He had hurt Calum rather badly - facing the boy's father, with the marks of that assault fresh on his face seemed a terrible idea. And he tried to put it out of his mind for the rest of the afternoon as he went about his business, but an hour from dinner, and he had not sufficiently silenced the guilt gnawing at the back of his mind.

Didn't he owe the boy?

And judging from the way Calum's face lit up when Raleigh walked into the informal dining room that night, dressed in a non-descript gray wool suit, feeling intensely out of place. He had eaten here many a time, as a foster and a few times during the tourney, the simple Neoclassical decor a stark contrast from the blunt Gothic design of the rest of the castle, a bank of windows to the west facing out across the snow-capped peaks of the Blue Mountains.

Angela had redone the room, Hercules had told him once. Which made sense; Hercules had never much concerned himself with the aesthetics of the castle, beyond keeping it functional and in good repair.

"Swordmaster!" Calum called, coming over, an older man behind him.

And Raleigh realized, stomach sinking, that he had in fact met Calum's father before.

Hellfire. Calum had never directly said he hailed from Darwin.

+++++

The last person Hercules expected to show up for dinner that night was, well...

Raleigh had cleaned himself up some, at least. Shaved and washed his hair. That was an improvement from the morning in the horse stall, but Hercules would have been lying to himself if he dind't long to see Raleigh back in court clothes. If this ridiculous farce helped him cope, then Hercules could permit it.

For now.

There were larger concerns. Such as the news Liam, Duke of Darwin, had brought him that day.

The Kaiju had launched a new offensive on the barrier islands, pushing steadily in. Nobody had lived there for years, the entire population evacuated after the first attacks. However, Liam had set up a spy network amongst some of the fishermen who still strayed beyond the island in search of larger schools to fill their nets, and based on their reports, along with some very intense analysis of the sea lands, he believed he had found the navigation route the Kaiju fleet was using.

Liam had postulated a way to take the fight to the Kaiju homelands.

If the Pacific could summon the strength to follow it, if it proved true... they could end the war. Hercules had no illusions over how brutal such an invasion might be, but if there was a chance, any chance...

It merited investigation.

At the very least.

If he could spare the resources. 

The navy especially had been badly decimated of late and timber import freighters were unreliable, given the nature of Kaiju piracy. If there was one weakness of his own lands, it was the poor quality of the wood for ship-building. New Zealand or Anchorage hardwood was far better than the tropical exotics, and judging from the reports he was receiveing from the Gold Coast shipyards, they were ill-stocked, and new shipments would not be sent until the spring...

By the gods. What had they done to deserve this enemy?

Hercules always arrived last to supper. That evening was no exception. His father used to say that it was better for the people to wait for the king, and Hercules preferred to walk in, knowing there would be no unpleasant surprises.

That evening, however, he was quite shocked to see Raleigh there, conversing with Lord Darwin as if they were old friends. It would have been a shock to see Raleigh at all, of course, yet...

"SWordmaster, it is good to see you away from practice yard," Hercules said, perhaps a little too loudly, going over to clap Raleigh on the back. "I thought for certain you would forever avoid my table."

"Hardly, milord," Raleigh replied smoothly. "Young master Calum insisted that I meet his father tonight..."

"But it appears we have already met, have we not?" Lord Darwin said, with a little more fondness in his words than Hercules was comfortable.

"Yes, during that coalition campaign a few years," Raleigh nodded.

"I must applaud yor choice in sword masters, my king. No finer fighter have I ever seen, and I would have no one else teaching my son," Lord Darwin said - and oh, by the gods, had this man touched his boy? He had, he must have.

Hercules realized his neck was starting to burn, and coughed. "It is always good to see old friends, but perhaps we should have a seat? I do not know about you gentlemen, but I am quite famished."

Positions at the king's table were, of course, arranged by rank. Other than Charles and Jazmine, who Were always at Hercules' right, seating was rather fluid. Hercules had invited Tendo that evening, due to the nature of the conversation of the afternoon, Gottlieb was a fixture, and the boys, of course, but he had deliberately discouraged most of his advisors and local politicians from coming. 

He did not want their input, and he did not want their rumors.

Which was probably a wise decision, based on the teapot tempest his daughter-in-law was making.

Calum was trying to indicate to Raleigh where they normally sat, but of course, Jazmine was having none of it.

"Princess, I cannot take your seat..."

"You grace us with your presence for the first time since your arrival, the soldier who trains our country's boys so well, and you refuse my request?"

"Milady," Raleigh warned.

Jazmine cocked her head. "Have you finally overcome your adversion to sitting with your back to the door?" She asked pointedly.

And Hercules sighed, realizing. The boys were seated with on the side of the table that faced the windows, but backed to the room's only door. Raleigh did look queasy; Hercules could not blame him. It had been a long time he himself had felt comfortable with his back to a door. 

"I would not displace you, Princess..." Raleigh protested weakly.

She tapped her seat again, next to Charles. "I shall sit to my royal father's right, and you shall sit here. Lord Darwin, you do not mind, do you?"

Hercules could see his old friend trying to hide his smile. No doubt, the man was as aware of the little game Jazmine was playing as Hercules himself was. "Of course not, dear lady. Who could refuse our crown princess her every desire?"

Jazmine smirked.

Raleigh, with a sigh, sat.

That little altercation over for the moment, Hercules took his seat and dinner was served. He had a strict rule about talking business over food - nothing until Pudding was served. Used to drive his mother bonkers, busienss at the table. THat evening was no exception, mostly pleasant small talk about Darwin and hunting and the prospects for a mild winter. And all was quite agreeable, of course, until the the chocolate and toffee was served, and Charles - boiling with impatience the entire meal - opened his mouth to ask:

"What are we doing about this new intelligence on the Kaiju, Father?"

In the most pointed, judgemental way possible.

He has so much to learn.

Hercules just stared at his son - this was neither the time nor the place for that tone, and besides, it was not Charles' decision how they were to proceed. The boy had a temper, and was far too eager to draw his sword. 

"Lord Darwin has indeed brought us an intriguing opportunity, but it is not something so easily exploited. The winter seas are far from hospitable," Hercules replied, and looked over at his duke. "A scout ship I may be able to spare. But I would need to take a closer look at your navigation charts to justify the deployment."

"I understand, my king, and I do apologize that I could not bring my full set of maps here to show you."

Hercules waved it off. "Your nautical library is unparallEd, So do not worry about that. However, our largest concern is the state of the shipyards. We have precious few intercept-class clippers left, and to lend one to a fruitless pursuit..."

"We must do something, Father!" Charles snapped. "He brings us the first lead we have had in years and you would throw it away?"

"I am thinking of the crew..."

"They are sworn to take such risks, and..."

Hercules banged a fist on the table, causing everyone's plates to jump, and Charles' tongue to cease moving. 

"Everyone out," the king ordered, eyes fixed on his son. "Now."

Lord Darwin's smile didn't budge, while Raleigh rose quickly to pull the princess's chair out for her. The boys booked it. Tendo gave the king a wink that Hercules deliberately ignored.

And, predicably, Charles did not even wait for the door to close before raising his voice.

+++++

"I suppose it will not offend you if I ask for your counsel on this?" Darwin - _Liam_ , Raleigh thought to himself, not a little ill - asked after dinner, as they strolled down the byways towards the riverfront boulevard.

Calum had been sent back to the barracks, with a promise that his father would attend the morning's practice. Lord Darwin had deliberately not stayed at the keep, he said, to avoid tongues from wagging, but had invited Raleigh to walk with him back to his hotel. Largely mystefied by the content of the fight (if not, perhaps, its occurance), Raleigh had agreed on the hope of fidning out what intelligence Charles had been referencing. Liam had been filling him in.

A way to strike back at the Kaiju homeland. 

Wouldn't that be a hell of a thing?

"Not at all, my lord."

"Come, Raleigh. Do not insult my intelligence by obscuring yourself. We both know who you are."

"The king of Anchorage has a wife and another child on the way. He has no use for a little brother."

"Yes, you always did consider yourself disposable," Darwin observed drily. "No prince stays so long on the battlefield, in such hideous conditions, because he enjoys the scenery."

"What counsel did you wish?" Raleigh sighed, irritated and not a little confused. What was he supposed to do with this? 

The Australian contingent had been with his brigade for almost six months. And while it had not been often that they had sought each other out during that time, the nights they spent together were passionate. It had not been very dignified, but nobody much cared about dignity out there. Oh yes, his body remembered _exactly_ how good a lover this man had been.

"What do you think the king's answer will be?"

"He will give you the ship you asked for, as well as any other support that he may," Raleigh replied. "Charles will win the argument. But only because Hercules wishes to send that ship. No doubt, Charles will wish to accompany it."

"Can I trust the prince?"

"You would insult my family to my face?" Raleigh snapped.

Lord Darwin tilted his head. "My apologies, prince."

"Our king wishes the Kaiju wiped from the face of the earth," Raleigh replied, softer. "If you have a lead, however tenuous, that may allow us to take the war to them in their own lands, he will see it through."

"That is good," Darwin said, nodding. "Our lands have been brutalized. If it wasn't for the fishing fleets working within the barrier islands, my people would have starved long along."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Anchorage is fortunate. They seem to make landfall less frequently there..."

"But they attack our fleets far more often, and in rougher seas. We have all lost in this war."

Lord Darwin was quiet for a few moments, as they walked the boulevard towards the wide bridge that spanned the city's whitewater river. The lamplighters had already been at work, and the evening was washed in gold shadows from the crystal-contained oil lights. In a different world, it may have been romantic.

"It was quite the shock, I must admit, seeing you again, and as my son's tutor," the older man said.

Raleigh sighed. "I had not put the pieces together myself."

Darwin huffed. "Yes, you seem distracted. And you were always such a sharp soldier."

Glancing down at his arm in its sling, Raleigh shook his head. "This has been a long healing process."

"From what I heard, you are lucky to be alive," Darwin agreed, and steered them down a different street, fronting on the river's wild course. "Lesser injuries have taken weaker men."

"I don not know how strong a man I am."

"Oh, hush, dear boy. Battle fatigue is nothing to be ashamed of, but it is nothing to wallow in either."

Raleigh paused in his step. "What do you mean?"

"I saw my son's face. He told me what happened. You were reliving a day at the front, were you not?"

"How would you know that?"

"You must not think you are the only man who has dealt with this," Darwin replied. "I struggled with my own demons as well."

"How did you deal with it?"

"Fought through it, same as I fought through that leg injury. I did not coddle myself."

"I am not coddling myself," Raleigh said heatedly. Liam of Darwin had always been a blunt man. He had almost forgotten about that. 

"Your arm is not weak from the poison, but from lack of use," Darwin replied, and poked Raleigh's left wrist with the head of his cane. "You achieve nothing by withdrawing yourself from the world. The strongest trees are the ones that grow in rough weather, against heavy winds."

"This is not my fault..."

"Of course not. But it is your responsibility, and our history together notwithstanding, I will not have my so being taught war craft by a man too cowardly to confront his own demons," Darwin told him firmly. "These things do not go away on their own."

Raleigh realized that they were standing in front of the Australian Royal Hotel, the finest in town, and saw that this was the end of their conversation. "As always, Lord Darwin..."

"Liam," the older man said, a small, fond smile on his lips.

"Liam, as always, your counsel is invaluable. I stand in awe of your wisdom."

"Horseshit, Raleigh," Liam replied, eyes still on Raleigh. "I... shall be in town a few more days, awaiting the king's answer. If you should like..."

Raleigh took Liam's hand, squeezing lightly. "I should like very much, milord, but I cannot. You have your wife at home, and I..."

"Yes, you have your king, do you not?" Liam murmured.

"How..."

"I was in my son's place, once upon a time," Liam replied, that smile growing somewhat wistful. "I know our king well. He has always loved his lands and his people more than himself. It is good Charles is so happily married, and to such a beautiful girl. It lessens the burden Hercules must carry."

And Raleigh, in all his years pining for the king, had never considered such a possibility. That Hercules had only married Angela for the continuation of his line. "I daresay I am a burden on him myself."

Liam laughed a little at that, and pulled Raleigh in. _Perhaps for a kiss_ , he thought, but those lips only went to his ear. "Then do not be," he whispered in Raleigh's ear.

And that was that.

Arriving home, Raleigh was walking through the barn when he saw a very familiar body, leaning over one of the stalls. 

Charles, talking to his yearling.

The back of his neck was still flushed from what had no doubt been an epic fight.

"Brother," Raleigh began.

But Charles just glared at him. "At your whore again, Raleigh?"

Raleigh sighed, and kept walking.

It must have been a very nasty fight, indeed.

"Brother wait!" Charles called after him.

Raleigh paused at the stair, and then turned. "Charles, I have no patience for you venting your speen at me..."

"No, I... I need you to promise you will take care of Jazmine."

"What kind of idiocy is this?"

"She misses you dreadfully. And she has been extremely agitated of late. I do not relish telling her of our departure."

"What do you mean, we?"

"Father insists on coming as well. Says we need to see this thing through."

Raleigh nodded, and went over, settling next to Charles against the stall door. "You will not leave me in charge here."

"No, of course not. Tendo will have command of the home guard, and civil affairs rest with the House of Lords. I only ask you look after Jazmine." Charles gestured at his colt. "And see to his training. I would feel far better if I could take him with me."

"This is a naval operation."

"I suppose," Charles said, and said no more.

+++++

Charles was at the front of the column that left the capitol a few days later, his dark gray wool travel cloak thrown around his shoulders with studious care. He had been surprisingly unemotional about the entire affair, despite - or perhaps because of - Jazmine's own endless agitation.

She had been there, the morning Raleigh and Yancy had come back. Both of them near death. Raleigh remembered her sitting by his bedside, holding his hand or reading him stories, as he drifted in and out of consciousness over the long days his body spent, fighting off the poison. 

Jazmine had not been pleasant to deal with, the past few days.

Hercules had been even less so.

And Raleigh knew what that was about. Charles had once been the oldest of four, but had been an only child for seven years. Hercules rightly should have remarried, should have tried for another son, stability for the kingdom. Raleigh always suspected the king's grief had been too great. But after what Lord Darwin had said that night, well, Raleigh was sure of nothing any longer.

"He shall be fine," Raleigh murmured to Jazmine, leaning next to her on the battlements, watching the small company issue forth onto the plain. Only a small contingent to escort the king and the prince to the ports, and then... some place the gods did not even know, no doubt. "He has been to war before."

"A few weeks, here and there. Never anything like this," Jazmine murmured. 

"How much did he tell you?"

"Enough," she muttered, an turned her face into his shoulder.

They were not alone. Most of the household had turned out to see their king depart. Still, Raleigh put his arm around her and let her lean into him. Appearances be damned. He had promised Charles he'd take care of Jazmine, and even if she hadn't been his sister, he would have treated that promise with the upmost seriousness.

Hercules had said nothing to him about it, other than outline what duties he expected Raleigh to perform while he was away. Jazmine. Training. Re-organizing the armory, which truly was becoming a mess. Inspecting the forge. More training. Breaking Charles' colt. Nothing more. Not even a _I shall miss you_.

He had destroyed everything with his refusal to marry, all those years ago, hadn't he?

"They shall be back," Raleigh told his little sister. "Do not fret. Charles will not leave you alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord... three months since an update? I have plenty of excuses, but mostly I'm sorry. I hate leaving things undone. Life is insane. My SJW boss has turned the entire office into a safe space (but only for people he likes), so that's been brutal dealing with. I'd quit and go somewhere else if the job market was better, and some asshole who's planning on retiring is blocking my ability to move to a different position (namely, his). I wish he'd fucking quit already, but I guess that's the way life goes. Just need to hold on until he punches out in the spring.


	6. Chapter 6

Why do you keep walking him in circles?" Jazmine asked, trailing behind him in the stables.  "What good does that do?  Shouldn't he have a saddle?"

Of all the infuriating things Raleigh had to deal with since the king had departed two weeks hence, his little sister had to be on the top of the list.  She had grown rather weepy, and very clingy, constantly following him as if she was six again and in awe of every little thing he did.  Still, he could not begrudge her the attention under the circumstances; she obviously missed Charles dreadfully. 

He had thought that, after cleaving to him all through the morning’s sword practice, she would find longeing Charles’ colt to be unbearably boring. But she was holding on admirably. 

Something was definitely wrong.

"It's to accustom him to the feel of the bridle, and to the taking of commands. He must be completely comfortable with human leadership prior to settling into his saddle,” Raleigh explained in between small flicks of the long, soft whip. He had no intention of touching the colt with the tool, but if Raleigh had to guess, the colt had been sulking since Charles left and was uncharacteristically disagreeable that afternoon.

“He must listen well to Charles,” Jazmine said, and despite the chill of the day, she had unbuttoned her redingote, and was leaning hard on the training arena fence. “To carry him home from the field.”

“Yes, indeed. We must start him on desensitization training soon now too,” Raleigh told her, eyes back on the colt. “There are many things on the battlefield...”

“Raleigh,” she said faintly, quiet enough to cut through his chatter, "I don't feel well."

And he turned, only just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head and her body crumble to the arena sands.

Raleigh dropped the colt's line, dashing to her side as quick as he could.  Her handmaiden was already knelt beside her, trying to fan her, but the girl was clearly lost as to what to do.  Jazmine's face had gone an alarming shade of gray; Raleigh had to bend his ear to her mouth to hear her breathing.

"I think she is fine," he announced with more confidence than he felt, still loosening the buttons on the front of his little sister's riding habit.  She did not appear to be injured.  "Just a faint, nothing seriously."

As if on command, Jazmine moaned quietly.

Carefully, Raleigh scooped her up into his arms like she was a child, holding her to his breast.  "I shall take the lady back to her chamber," he said to a still wide-eyed maid.  "You may take one of the guards and go fetch the physician."

"But Swordmaster..."

"That's an order, young lady,” he said more firmly, and was about to order one of the guards to go fetch the colt, when he realized the young horse was nibbling at Jazmine's fingers.  Likely looking for treats, but for once, he was grateful to his sister for ruining the animal with too many oat-honey clusters.

He whistled to his own mare and, with a bit of help from the stable master, managed to get himself in saddle and his unconscious sister back in his arms.  It got his arm screaming in protest too, but that was of no consequence.

The colt followed them back from like an obedient dog, only kicking up a fuss once back inside the main gates, where he could no doubt smell the stables.  A liveried servant ran up to grab the colt, who protested angrily at not being able to accompany them into the house.

Gottlieb was waiting for them when Raleigh arrived back at the keep with his armload of weepy princess.  A few of the servants had assembled with various armloads of things that were scattered about the room.  Raleigh ignored it all and laid her down in a massive pile of pillows, arranging her as carefully as he could, sweeping a strand of hair loosed from its plait away from her forehead.

“Excuse me, Master Swordsman,” Gottlieb said, coming up alongside with his bag of instruments, “but I shall attend to the patient now. Clear the room, if you would be so kind.”

Raleigh very much wanted to stay, but he trusted the skill in those hands and, with a nod and a final fond caress of his sister’s forehead, took his leave.

Nearly half an hour passed before anyone was permitted back into Jazmine's bed chamber, a period of time he spent praying in the hall.  If anything were to happen to her, beyond just the family grief, there was the kingdom to think of, and Charles, and Hercules.  It was selfish, but Raleigh could not help the stab of fear that came at the idea of Hercules having to remarry.

"The princess has been asking for you," Gottlieb finally announced with no preamble, coming out of the room.

Raleigh pushed away from the wall.  "She is fine, then?"

"I shall let her tell you the news," Gottlieb said, but put a hand up to block Raleigh from entering just yet.  "She is likely going to be very emotional about this.  She needs her family right now."

Raleigh glared at him - because of course she would have what she needed from him - and shoved in.

One of the handmaidens was sitting beside Jazmine, combing her hair.  Jazmine herself was still propped up on the pillows, stripped down now to nothing but her chemise, even her light corset cast aside, not so gray but still pale, eyes rimmed like she been crying.  She reached out a hand to him and he took it, settling into the space her maid vacated without so much as a sound.  

"Dear sister, what pains you?" He asked gently.  

She smiled a thin, wane smile.  It held only a moment.  "I'm with child," she whispered, and then burst into tears, falling straight into his arms.

Raleigh sighed and held her. He stroked her loosened hair, and kissed the top of her head, letting her curl into his side. She felt so soft, so _small_ , sobbing her emotions away into his jacket. 

Raleigh might have never understood the appeal womenfolk held for so many men, but Jazmine was blood, his sister, and he loved her dearly. 

What a shit time for Charles to be gone.

He shifted, though, and she Jazmine grabbed his arm, as if afraid he would flee her. “You would not leave your poor sister here, all alone to suffer this by herself, would you?”

“My sister is a princess of a great and broad land, pregnant with the crown prince’s first child,” Raleigh replied, somewhat ironically. “What could she possibly have to suffer?”

“This is not the time for teasing! Not with Charles so... so far away...” she pleaded, her big blue eyes filling anew. And Raleigh sighed.

The grooms could put the colt away.

The next day, he moved back into the keep.

+++++

Raleigh didn’t dare take a room directly adjacent to Jazmine’s, choosing instead one of the nicer guest quarters down the hallway. Still close, but not close enough, he hoped, that he would have no space at all. 

And indeed, he had plenty of work to do to keep him occupied. Lessons with the pages, upkeep of the armory, oversight of the stables - some of the younger boys thought they could get away with their slovenly ways with the master of the house gone - and all the other things that seemed to be falling on his shoulders. 

Truly, training Charles’ yearling on the lunge line was the least stressful of his duties, so he made sure to do it every day.

Gottlieb insisted on maintaining his experiments in gunpowder that Charles had been so fond of, and Raleigh supposed he could see the appeal. It was great sport with the potential for good battlefield application. He had mulled over the Lord of Darwin’s theory about his hand too, that it was lack of use and not the poison that was crippling him, and decided to set himself to exercising it once again. The first night had left him in screaming pain, but after a few days of minimal work, his fingers felt freer. 

Raleigh had no illusions that Yancy would allow him back on the battlefield if he regained full use of his left arm. But he was under the employ of the King of Sydney now, and perhaps he might be better able to instruct his pupils if he could demonstrate the proper movements, rather than explain or rely on Charles for creative interpretation.

(Perhaps, if he could still fight, it would have been he riding out beside Hercules that day, instead of Charles. But he tried not to think of such things.)

His first attempt, it takes him over a minute to force his left hand open in the right configuration. All he could manage is one push up. Up, down, before he was back on his knees, panting through the pain, hand spasming on his thigh. 

It felt oddly good.

He was tired of watching his strength ebb.

It seemed that everything in his life hurt. That arm pain at least, conceivably, could be productive.

His sister, mercifully and uncharacteristically, stayed out of his space. She was clearly thrilled to have him around as much as he was, taking his dinners in the family’s chamber, spending more time in the keep. She had that glow about her that so many talked about, and all the ladies of the house were positively aflutter about it.

Raleigh contented himself to knowing that she was pleased with herself, and wrote a lengthy letter to their brother in Anchorage.

Yancy would be pleased that this marriage, set up before Jazmine was born, was already bearing fruit.

To his king, however, Raleigh did not not write. Not of Jazmine’s pregnancy, nor anything else. Hercules was no doubt occupied with the war. Besides, both he and Charles deserved to hear such happy news from Jazmine herself.

(A child was something Raleigh could not give Hercules. It seemed, most days, there was nothing but his service he could offer.)

He missed his king terribly.

When Hercules was in the keep, Raleigh was at least assured of his presence. He had not gone out of his way to find the king, but the king had always been there. Close. The sound of his voice echoed in the halls, he was there in the baths, he popped into the kitchens at odd hours to talk with the chefs or steal biscuits, he spent long afternoons in the stables or watched in the yard as the pages drilled.

Now, with him away to war.

Well.

Raleigh went to the whore house from time to time, but while it satisfied his body, he walked home still wanting. The boys were very sweet, and of course it was not an answer, but it was better than nothing.

He was so tired of nothing.

The weeks wore on and the seasons turned, winter coming swiftly. It was mild this far south, more rain than snow, but the mountains still received their dusting. The letters came often, from Charles to Jazmine, but nothing from Hercules. 

Nothing until Midwinter’s.

+++++

The letter that came, after the feasting and merriment of Midwinter’s Day, seemed the best holiday present Raleigh had ever received. 

It was, of course, traditional for nobles to give small gifts to the poor during this time of reflection and cold and sacrifice. Raleigh, as the younger prince, had often spent the weeks leading up to the Feast of Sun Return as Father’s auxiliary, dutifully distributing that year’s largess to the less fortunate of Anchorage’s capitol, or managing the sacrifices for the temples. 

That year, however, the duty fell to Jazmine. Swelling as she was with her child, the House of Lords thought the announcement of her pregnancy would be gift enough to the kingdom. She persisted, and without Charles or Hercules to authorize the expense, she managed to convince the Treasury to advance her personal allowance for the next three months so she might do something pleasant for the people. Raleigh was pleased to see she had gotten some grasp of the value of money, as well as what mattered to the people of Sydney; her gifts little more than baskets of food or bolts of cloth, but gratefully received by all.

She had also insisted on doing at least some of the actual giving herself, which meant Tendo and Raleigh spent a long week on horseback and in the market squares, making sure that nobody got any strange ideas about their foreign princess.

Not all the people of Sydney trusted her, but by the time the temple fires were lit on the shortest night of the year, there was affection rumbling for her that Raleigh had not heard before.

“I have nothing to give you,” he told her apologetically that final night, after the court ball had concluded, nobles and upper-class merchants retreating once more to the warmth and privacy of their own homes. They were curled in blankets in front of the fireplace in her room, a pot of chocolate between them and nothing in particular to do.

“I have been so busy with the rest of the holiday I quite forgot myself,” she replied, sheepish. “Forgive me, brother?”

“Indeed sister, seeing you grow as a future queen makes me quite happy.”

“I miss Charles,” she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder. “I even miss our father, grumpy as he is.”

 _Father_. She had taken to calling Hercules that, and every time he heard it, Raleigh felt a little light-headed, sick. He wrapped an arm around her, trying to ignore that sliding feeling in his stomach. There was something quite wrong with him, wasn’t there, to love a man who all but raised him? “I miss them too. But the gods will bring them home safe to us. You shall see. Charles will come back with a few scars and a great many stories you will slap him for telling. 

She might have laughed, and then cried, and Raleigh let her.

It was his first Midwinter’s with any member of his family in six years. The previous year, at the same time, he had been planning a strike against a fresh Kaiju encampment along the southern mountains.

The next morning, Jazmine’s handmaiden woke them, fallen asleep right there on the rug, with letters in her hand.

One was from Charles to Jazmine.

The other was from Hercules. To Raleigh.

He didn’t dare open it until he was back in his own chambers, door firmly locked and window frosted with cold.

When he broke the seal, a small white stone set with the same rune from the Hansen family sigil clattered down onto the little secretary.

It was a chop.

Frowning, Raleigh set it aside and attended to his king’s words.

_Dearest Raleigh,_

_I cannot offer you many details about our adventure, but perhaps that alone will be detail enough. Charles has made several voyages now and the word is promising. I have called for something of a summit with a few of our mutual acquaintances and relatives_ \- which meant, no doubt, a number of the leaders of other Pacifica countries, Raleigh thought - _to make a determination on how this game shall be played. I am wary, as benefits a rational man in most pursuits._

_I have received the word that our princess is with child. Charles is elated and I am relieved. I hope for many fine children from this pairing; they are quite well-suited to each other and no doubt they will embody what is best in both Houses._

_If I may be so presumptuous as to say it, I have missed you dreadfully. There is death here in my northern reaches, and death has a habit of putting our lives into perspective. It redefines our desires. And what I desire is to have you by my side. I would take my pleasure in your body once again, experience the joy in your laughter, and find my rest in your heart. Having you so close, and yet being unable to reach you, has been a sorrow for me._

_I thought I had been clear in my intentions, but perhaps I have not. Allow me now to correct any error I have made._

_You brother granted me his formal permission to wed you, and I very much wish to do so upon my return. In my land, it is customary when one man proposes marriage for the other to select his engagement gift. Take this letter and my chop down to the Treasury and choose anything you will. All my kingdom is at your fingertips, my great love._

_You act as if you have no value, when in truth, you are everything._

_Your Devoted,  
Hercules_

Raleigh set the letter aside, picking up the little chop instead. It was rough, he noticed, carved by somebody who was competent but not an expert. He wondered if Hercules had made it himself.

The thought warmed him far more than it should, although he did not know what to do with that feeling. He re-read the letter, once, twice. He ordered breakfast, and in between bites of toast, considered the offer.

Marriage.

The king was formally proposing marriage.

It was snowing outside now, a rare sight this far south.

Raleigh sat back in his chair, sipping tea, and thinking.

“I have missed you too, my love."

+++++

“The king is long away,” Raleigh’s favorite whore said three nights after Raleigh received the letter, lounging in the silk sheets of the brothel’s finest room. “Do you think he is meeting with success in his diplomacy in the far east?”

That was the cover story; a diplomatic mission. Wouldn’t do to get the people’s hopes up like that. Raleigh stroked the boy’s hair. “There is no finer king in all the world than ours. If he wishes success, he shall have it.”

The boy smiled at him. “Is not your king Lord Becket of Anchorage?”

“He is that,” Raleigh replied. “But he pledged my service to the master of Sydney, and it is him who owns my loyalty now.”

The boy’s alabaster skin was flush from exertion, Raleigh’s fingerprints fading on his thighs and shoulders. It never quite Raleigh’s preference, but however much Raleigh disdained his royal blood he could not dishonor it; Yancy would have had him skinned alive for letting a prostitute fuck him. Hercules, no doubt, would have much the same reaction. Besides, this soft boy was far from what he wanted inside of him. 

Raleigh had not yet decided what to do about the king’s offer. It was everything Raleigh longer for, in his innermost heart, and yet, how could he accept it? He was still broken. He was still visiting his whore, for gods’ sake. No matter what Hercules thought, was he not a burden? Was he not weak in flesh and spirit? Did not the king deserve better?

There seemed no escape from the endless doubts.

“Reckon we all serve a master,” the whore said, and rolled closer to curl into his side. Such a soft, sensual boy, this one. “And the king is very handsome. It must be a pleasure to serve him so closely.”

Raleigh smacked the boy’s cheek, and not gently. “Mind your tongue about our lord.”

The whore recoiled a little, blinking his gaze off towards the flickering fireplace. “I meant no disrespect, milord. If I had the king’s favor...”

“Which commoners never do,” Raleigh snapped.

“I know.” And the boy smiled at him sadly, as if he’s commiserating, and it was too sweet to be irritating. Even if it was very irritating. “It must be very sad for our king, not having anyone at his side, what with how his Prince Raleigh went back to Anchorage after the tourney...”

“Prince Raleigh?” he sked, perhaps a little too sharply.

“I do not mean any disrespect to the prince, since they say he is very handsome too and brave, and saved the kingdom from the Kaiju. But they also say that our king fancied him greatly. That he never married because he was waiting for the prince to come back from the war. Did not leave his bedside for a moment after he nearly died on the sands this summer. If you'll excuse me being so bold, milord.”

Raleigh’s skin feels too tight; Hercules had stayed with him? The man had avoided him like Kaiju Blue after he awoke from the trials of that one-handed combat. He hadn’t seen him for days. But waiting? “I have not heard those rumors,” he said, voice a little thick. “But like as not, they are just rumors. Anchorage... Anchorage does not permit such relationships between men as you imply. They are seen as shameful.”

“Are you ashamed?”

“Mind your tongue, boy.”

The whore sighed like the lovesick youth he no doubt was, living on a diet of sex and fantasy. “I mean no offense, milord. Rumors are rumors, and I know they cannot always be believed. Like the ones about you and the princess, which cannot possibly be true.” He threw an arm around Raleigh’s side, snuggling close; if he had been a cat, he would have been purring. “I have never seen you with a woman.”

“Indeed,” Raleigh said drily, “I would not know what to do with a naked woman if she threw herself at me.”

“See then, milord? Rumors.”

“Yes, rumors,” Raleigh sighed, but it was right about then that the boy decided it was time for round two and, well, if he wanted to go back to worshipping Raleigh’s cock, Raleigh certainly wasn’t going to complain.

He did deliberately avoid his sister that night, upon his return, and sought out Tendo the next afternoon, once drills with the pages had concluded.

“Have you heard this tale, that the princess and I are lovers?” he asked, point-blank, before the captain of the Home Guard could even get to his feet from behind his desk.

Tendo looked visibly startled, and shook his head. “No, milord, I have not. But it would not surprise me. She is not discreet in seeking her brother’s attention, and while Prince Raleigh of Anchorage may have a grand reputation here, his presence is not widely known.”

 _At Prince Raleigh’s request_. Raleigh could almost hear Hercules’ most trusted soldier holding those words back. The reminder, however unvoiced, made him scowl. “I was under the impression that the servants, at least, might have remembered me.”

“I daresay some of them do. But none of them, ignorant of your nobility or not, would dare spread such a hateful lie.”

“Might you investigate?”

“Of course. Such rumors are bad for the royal family. We would not want to have any doubt whatsoever cast on her child.”

Godsdammit, of course. “No,” Raleigh said through gritted teeth. “We would not.”

His frustration great, Raleigh found himself back out in the training yard with one of the practice dummies and a rudius, landing blow after blow on the dumb thing, heedless of the screaming pain in his left shoulder and hand, until the hard wood of the practice sword splintered in his hands and his arm was too numb to function.

His fingers had gripped the handle, though.

By the gods, he had held on.

It wasn’t much comfort, as he sat in Gottlieb’s office, the natural philosopher plucking oak splinters from his skin, berating him for his foolishness. 

But it was something.

“Are you journalling, as I instructed?” Gottlieb asked, after he was done and the wounds dressed, whiskey out and fire stoked against the fresh snow falling outside. 

Raleigh recalled then the cold of the camps, of the night when Yancy nearly died because of his foolishness. He could not allow his sister to be hurt in the same way. “No, good doctor, I admit that I have not.”

“You should. You must.”

What would his king tell him to do? Follow the doctor’s orders, no doubt. Get his head cleaned up, so he might make himself useful again, whole. He still had nightmares. He still lived in fear of another flashback. And that was really what it was about, wasn’t it? If marriage truly was on the table, if the king had not forsaken him, even after all his foolishness, then he owed it to the king to be worthy of such an offer.

For he truly did wish to accept. He did.

“Perhaps I shall.”

And perhaps Raleigh would have, had not everything gone to hell shortly thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. How long has it been? Months, I think. Terrible of me. I can't help but feel that this story is very uneven, but I know where we're going now, and, well, I want to see Raleigh get better.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for how terrible I am about updates right now. So so sorry

Five years of living incognito at the front invariably has an effect on a man; it had been a long time since Raleigh had given much thought to personal adornment, fine clothes, or any of the other little luxury items that marked one's status for all the world to see. Such things were of vital importance in the more formal courts of Hong Kong or California, or even Anchorage herself, but Sydney was less interested in putting on airs and the prince preferred it that way. Jewelry was not something he cared for. Likewise, he had no need of anything larger. He had his mare and a place to sleep and a satisfactory position and role to perform. What more could be required? 

It kept Raleigh up long into the nights, this offer of a betrothal gift. He had no idea what to request. He had no need of anything. What he truly wanted was his lover back, but that was hardly a gift he could discuss with the Secretary of the Treasury. For the moment, he believed he had bought himself some time.

It was about a week after the Feast of Sun Return when Raleigh thought he had finally found the right words to send off to Hercules. Still broken though he might be, living without his lover had only seemed to bring them both more pain, and Raleigh longed to stop hurting. He loved the man, and if the king judged him enough, he must trust that. 

He'd gone by Jazmine's chambers to borrow her seal for the envelop, as he had every month for his letters to his brother and his queen. He had written a letter for them as well, informing them of his decision. Yancy had given his permission, of course, but that did not mean it wouldn't cause a minor (or major) scandal back home. He could only hope it wouldn't be a huge problem.

"You can get yourself one of your own, you know," Jazmine said, as she always did, as he pressed her ring into the steel-gray wax.

"But then I would not be able to come see you," he replied, blowing on the seals as he got up from her little writing desk. One for Yancy and one for Hercules, the stylized B holding the fine parchment neatly shut. "I shall find every excuse that I can."

She followed him to the door, leaning on the jamb. She was only around five or six months, showing but not dreadfully large yet, and she had settled somewhat. "We should find you a wife," she said, eyes half-shut. "Some nice girl who will patch your clothes," and he picked at a hole in the side seam of his shirt.

He rolled his eyes, catching her hand. "I assure you, I am quite well without a wife."

"But you are all alone, and you shouldn't be."

"I have you," he said and kissed her on the cheek, pressing her hand back against her belly. "And I shall have him to care for too."

Her lashes were wet. "We do not know it's a boy."

"I suppose it doesn't matter," he replied. "Either way, the king and your prince will love the little one."

She threw her arms around him, hugging close. "This is scary."

He kissed the top of her head before gently pulling her off of him again. Even in the castle, there were eyes everywhere and Tendo had not yet discovered the source of those cruel rumors. "I know, but you are being so brave. Mother would be very proud of you."

She sniffed. "I wish Mother was here."

"As do I. But you shall be fine." There was a noise down the hall, and Raleigh looked to see Calum standing there, his own letters in hand. "Are you looking for the courier?" he called.

The page nodded, eyeing them a little, and Raleigh stepped further back. Jazmine was in her dressing gown, after all, and this likely did not look well. "I heard he was leaving first thing in the morning, and I wished to include my mail in his bundle." He held it up as evidence.

"I shall take it for you," Raleigh offered, walking down the hall. "I'm headed that way myself. You should get yourself back to the barracks."

Calum fell into step beside him and passed him the letter. "Thank you, Swordmaster. I was a bit lost."

"Well, this is the princess's area, so perhaps do not get lost here again."

"Of course, Swordmaster."

Raleigh did feel a genuine fondness for the boy, and wondered idly if Hercules would continue having him train the pages, after they were wed. He did not fancy a political role, after all. He had not relished holding his office publically, but since he had hopefully proven himself an adequate instructor in the ways of weaponry, it would not be an issue. 

Many things, he was sure, would change.

+++++

Training in January was wet and miserable, the fresh batch of young pages still grousing about everything. The morning after mailing his letter was especially miserable. Raleigh tired of their whining only about an hour in, and informed them all that if they could not stand the weather (as a good soldier must), they could make themselves useful in the stables.

"You cannot possibly expect us to muck stalls!" protested one of the older boys, a gangly lad of maybe thirteen summers whose name Raleigh had not yet learned.

Calum just cuffed him on the back of his head as he walked past. "When the Swordmaster gives you an order, you take it."

Inside was much nicer, the warmth of the horses making the mild winter air almost muggy. Raleigh stripped his padded fighting doublet off and sipped at a mug of cheap but warm mulled wine the head groom offered him, smiling a little to himself as the boys resigned themselves to the shovels. It gave him time to further consider the king's offer. 

He was considering the possibility of a custom saddle, when the background chatter from the boys stopped.

When the blue livery of the Senate Guard filled the hay-strewn aisle.

"Is the king's Swordmaster present?" the front man in formation, wearing captain's rank, asked loudly as soon as his men had finished filing in.

Raleigh set his earthenware tankard aside and stepped forward, thumbs looped through the pockets of his breeches. "It is I who serves our king in that capacity."

"Are you the man from Anchorage who came with Lord Becket's entourage last summer?"

"No doubt you may tell from my accent that I am," Raleigh replied sarcastically, trying to figure out what the game was here. The House of Lords, under its elected magistrate, was maintained mostly as an advisory body to the king, with some limited legislative powers. The House of Commons had more authority within the capitol city itself; as the home of the king, the city did not have a lord derived from the nobility and filled its administration positions as much through election as through noble appointment. It was mostly all courtesy and ceremony, though. Rarely had Raleigh ever heard of them flexing their authority over a member of the king's household.

"I have been asked to fetch you to the Senate."

"We are in the middle of morning training. Might this wait until the afternoon?"

"I have orders to bring you in immediately."

Raleigh sighed. Better to get it over with. He looked down at himself, in his worn fighting kit of stained leather and threadbare linen. "Very well. If you but let me go put on something more presentable..."

"I have orders to bring you in. Immediately."

Strange. Perhaps something had happened to the king, or the Kaiju had made landfall nearby, or any one of a hundred horrible possibilities. "Of course. Would not do to keep your fine lords waiting," he said mildly, keeping his concern out of his voice, and turned to Calum. "See to it the boys finish what we started, then you may off to the baths before the afternoon's lessons."

Calum nodded. There was fear in his eyes.

The Senate Guard had come on foot, which meant the trip down to their facility was slow and miserable. The day had become rainy. Raleigh could only imagine what he must have looked like as they finally led him up between the gray stone pillars.

However, they did not make for some private office or secluded chamber, as he had expected. The guards led him up directly into the main Senate floor, the fine marble tiles ringed with dozens of seats, enough to accommodate all the lords of the realm should such a need be raised. That morning, it was half-empty but still ominously full; the chair marked _Darwin_ was empty, as was the seat on the king's observation dais. It did not assuage his fear, either, to see Jazmine there as well collapsed in a chair, a veil thrown over her face no doubt as a hedge against the rain, Tendo beside her.

"What is the meaning of this?" Raleigh demanded of the captain of the Home Guard, striding over to his sister. "Dragging our princess from the warmth of home on such a day, when she is with..."

"It was not my decision," Tendo replied testily, quietly. "Do you remember those rumors we discussed?"

A chill settled in Raleigh's bones, deep and bitter and biting. He looked at his sister. It was clear she'd been crying. "What has been said?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I have nothing to say about this ridiculous accusation" - her voice rose on those last two words, nearly to a scream - "because you are my brother and we are not having relations!"

 _They say Prince Raleigh is very handsome_. He could almost hear the boy from the brothel saying it anew. Oh gods, nobody knew who he was, did they? He'd been barely nineteen summers at the last Pacifica tourney before he'd left for the war; five years to change from the boy any of these lords had known before. His last contact last summer, still wearing his rank and his name, had been mostly with the younger nobles in the pleasure pavilions, and who could say what was real and what was illusion when opium was so freely available? Even if those memories could be trusted, he saw none of those men here. No, these were the older lords, the fathers or grandfathers still holding the titles, the land, the influence, men who likely had no patience for the rumors of Prince Raleigh and would not accept some mud-spattered swordsman as the real thing.

If Jazmine was basing her denial of the charge of adultery on the idea that they were siblings...

But whether or not there was an official announcement yet, the King of Sydney was his fiancée now, and he was not about to let the little lords of this land terrorize his flesh and blood with accusations of adultery.

"You are my sister," he told her gently, but moved back as she tried to reach for his hand, "and I would never dishonor our lineage, nor the lineage of Sydney's king, by taking you into my bed." He looked at the assembly around them, silent for the moment, judging. "What prompted this insane change? Who levies this?"

"You would claim you are Prince Raleigh of Anchorage?" one of the older lords, somebody he recognized from the hunt but whose name he did not know, asked him. He was wearing the rank-sash of the Magistrate, and had therefore likely been appointed to head up this little witch hunt.

"I would not claim it as if I was choosing a lance at the rack. It is who I am. It is my name," Raleigh snapped, desperately searching the room. There had to be somebody who could vouch for him. 

"You have made no appearances at court," one of the others replied. "Attended nothing, informed no-one..."

"I spent five years incognito at the front..."

"But such things are not done in the civilized world," the first lord countered sternly. "If you are a prince, your conduct alone shows you to be in great contempt of your blood, if not in outright dereliction of duty."

Raleigh's mind was racing. Nobody friendly here. Tendo had likely already tried to corroborate the story and been told to hold his tongue. "My lords, I have performed every duty to our king and the gods..."

"If you call your conduct at the hunt a few months ago becoming of a prince, then I'm the king of Sweden," one of the other lords yelled from a higher seat, and the room burst into laughter. Raleigh swallowed down his embarrassment, hoping his courage would not fail him before he had gotten them out of this.

But Jazmine, apparently, was not content to let him handle it.

She stood, a little unsteady on her feet. "Does my word count for nothing?" she demanded, pleaded, with the lord serving as magistrate. "This is my brother, whom I was raised with every day of my life, who is my only family here. Why will you not believe me?"

"Princess," the lord explained patiently, as if to a child, "you are the one accused. Your word, without proof, cannot be accepted as true."

"You will not listen to me because I am a woman!"

"We owe you every respect as our prince's chosen wife and future queen," the lord replied, "but if you are carrying a bastard, then this is a matter of treason."

His sister went white, swayed a bit, and Tendo tried to ease her back into her seat. "I did nothing wrong! Raleigh, please, tell them!"

Raleigh looked away from her, his eyes firmly on the man serving as magistrate. "You would not dare execute a princess of Anchorage. King Yancy would rain hell on this land. Kill every last man in this room, salt your fields, sell your children into slavery in the East, end Sydney as a nation, if you even thought about it."

It provoked quite a bit of yelling, and the magistrate's face hardened. "Threatening now, are we?"

"I am simply providing facts."

"Then why do you not provide us some facts about yourself, prince?" somebody else sneered. "If you are indeed of the Becket lineage, why can you not provide proof?"

Raleigh looked at his sister again, who was trying very hard not to break down entirely, to be brave and stoic and regal about this whole thing. But while she might have been a princess, she was also a scared girl, five months pregnant and her husband off to war. He loved her, more than any other woman he had ever known save their mother, and there was nothing else he could offer her but getting her out of this. Even if she would hate him for it.

He supposed she was going to find out sooner or later. 

"The king will vouch for me," he said.

"The king is not here."

"The princess stands accused based on rumor, no doubt. That she and I have been seen much together, that I am in her chamber in the evenings, all manner of sordid things that are said, am I correct?"

The magistrate nodded. "Do you deny this?"

"There is also a rumor that our king was in love with the younger prince of Anchorage and wished to take him as a consort wed."

The background rumbling in the room ceased. Completely. Raleigh was keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him, but especially his sister's. 

The expression on the magistrate's face was unreadable. "I have heard that rumor."

"The one about myself and the princess is utterly false, but there is quite a bit of truth to the rumor about myself and the king," he said. "He sent me another letter not a week ago with an offer of matrimony. His letter sits on my little secretary in my room at the keep. Send somebody to fetch it, and it will prove I am who I say I am."

And that might have worked, except Jazmine had to say, "what are you talking about?"

He turned. Knelt down beside her. "Sister, I know how this must sound, but the king did propose and I accepted this very morning. It has been too long for us already."

"What are you saying?"

"And these lords, these men who would condemn you, they need to understand that I would never lay with you, even if we were not of the same blood. I have never touched a woman in lust. I simply was not made that way."

Her lip trembled. "You... you are not... you are my brother. That is what matters."

"I am." He took a deep breath. "But I am a sodomite."

For a moment, Jazmine said nothing. Just sat there in shocked silence. For a moment. And then she exploded. 

Lashing out, she slapped him hard, screaming at him that he was a liar and she didn't believe him. Tendo had to wrestle her back under control, amidst more yelling and laughter from the assembly. Raleigh wasn't quite sure what happened, but it seemed like her reaction was taken by most as confirmation that she was horribly betrayed by what he had just said, personally wounded and deeply angry. Which of course she was, but no attempt Raleigh made to explain that it wasn't driven by some secret affair was drowned out, and he was dragged out of the chamber. His last view of his sister before the doors slammed shut behind him was of her bent over in her chair, weeping.

+++++

"They tell me that execution is off the table. For you. It was never being considered for the princess, so you may rest your mind about that."

"So they believe me?"

"There seems to be a consensus that you possess a familial title of some kind, so thank the gods for that bit of sense."

"I suppose they'd put me in the dungeon if they were more confident in my having common blood."

"Indeed. They agreed to let you have writing materials, but they will likely destroy any letters you attempt to post. I told them I had prescribed journaling as part of your therapy for battle fatigue. I doubt they will interfere with that."

"Comforting," Raleigh said, and eyed the wrapped package Gottlieb had just set down on the rough table between them. 

It had been three days since the House of Lords had decided to tidy him away into a cell. The Senate building did not have a jail proper, but did have a wing in the lower levels dedicated for the temporary incarceration of problematic nobles until a royal ruling could be established. From what Raleigh had seen of it, there were only a few cells, none of them save his occupied. Meant for the higher classes, the room, while tiny, had a few creature comforts. There was a woven platform that served as a bed, a small fireplace, rugs on the stone floor, a low table that could double as a desk, and mostly thankfully, a small window complete with bars and glass, which let in light and kept out the worst of the drafts. Food and water was brought at noon, and the chamber pot removed. Still, Raleigh had had a panic attack the first night, which lasted well into the morning and was apparently noticeable to the servant who brought him his meal. That evening, he'd gotten a visit from the king's physician. 

"Has anyone written to my brother?" he asked Gottlieb, who was taking more notes in that infernal record of his.

"I am under surveillance, as you can no doubt imagine, as is Jazmine, who shall remain under house arrest until the king's return," Gottlieb said. "But Tendo promised he would try. He is not under any suspicion of being some kind of spy. His reputation here is immaculate."

"But not good enough for his word to be trusted," Raleigh observed wryly.

"That is the way of things," Gottlieb agreed. "The king shall be home in a month or two from his diplomatic mission with Lord Darwin, no doubt, and then this entire affair will be quite sorted out. In the meantime, I would advise you use this time to manage your own demons, or I fear you will go mad here."

"You have a terrible bedside manner."

"I have a most disobedient patient." He tapped the package. "There are some fresh clothes in here as well, and a blanket. Is there anything else you require?"

Raleigh hesitated. "Might you fetch the king's letters, next time? I left them in my secretary." There was little use for them now, the king's offer of betrothal no doubt a thing that would only inflame the situation, with its implication that Raleigh was betraying _both_ of them. But still, he wished to have it.

"Of course." Gottlieb rose and made to leave. banging on the door to summon the guard. "The pages miss your lessons, but Captain Choi is working with them in your stead. I trust they will not fall too far behind."

"What does the capitol say about me?" he asked, before the door could open. "After... what I said on the floor?"

Gottlieb nodded. "I am not much of one for rumors, but if it settles your mind, there is little prejudice against sodomites here. The larger issue, if there was to be an issue, is the king being involved with a commoner. But the king will prove them wrong about that when he returns, so there will be no damage to his reputation there."

"What of my sister?"

"Your sister is a princess of Sydney now. She must accustom herself to this land's ways," Gottlieb told him, and with that, he was gone.

Raleigh looked around his tiny little cell, heart sinking in his chest. He had no idea how long he might remain in captivity there, nor how long it would be until Hercules returned from the coast. It was barren, that cell, barren and empty...

 _and free of distractions,_ he thought to himself. 

There was nothing he could bury himself in. Not work nor whorehouse, the last of his comforts had finally been stripped away. And it occurred to him, staring at the package Gottlieb had left, that maybe this was what he needed.

In some strange way, maybe this was a chance to focus. To pull himself back together.

To get himself fixed, so that when his betrothed came to fetch him, he would not keep the man awake in the late hours with his nightmares.

Shoulder protesting, Raleigh got down on his hands and knees for a fresh set of push-ups.

+++++

_Dearest Hercules,_

_Your most recent letter came as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. I must admit, I do not know all that you see in me, much wounded as I am and changed from the carefree boy you knew before. Yet I do know what I see in you, and I love you for it. If you wish me as your husband, I gladly accept. I shall look forward to your return with much happy anticipation._

_I have commissioned a betrothal gift, and will be happy to accept it from your hand when we meet again._

_Yours Always  
Raleigh Becket_

Hercules had indeed not, in all these months, been able to square the boy he once knew with the man who had come to live with him. Raleigh was correct about that, albeit not in the way he imagined. He had been carefree as a younger man, yes, but arrogant and full of false notions of heroics and romance in warfare. The man he was now was indeed wounded, wounded perhaps too deeply to ever fully heal, but was still as beautiful as he had ever been. That seriousness sat well on him. The king cared not about his injuries nor the battle fatigue.

For Raleigh had said yes, and that was all that mattered.

"You have seemed unusually cheerful today," his old friend, Governor Pentecost, commented to him over Hercules' gift of Blue Mountain port. The Sydney contingent had only arrived at Hong Kong that evening with what ships they could spare and Lord Darwin's proven sea charts. The council would begin as soon as the rest of the Pacifica nations could be assembled; Hong Kong port was deep and well-positioned for a forward strike, and Stacker had been kind enough to agree to host the assembly. For the moment, they had retreated from the official welcoming ceremony to Stacker's walnut-clad office, a bit of private time they always tried to claim. They had once been young men at war together, with all that entailed, and it had forged a friendship not easily shaken. "You normally hate sailing."

"I received word just before we left that a certain paramour of mine accepted a marriage proposal," Hercules replied, pouring them both a glass of thick ruby-colored wine. The warm air filled with its sweetness. Nearly February now, and Hong Kong was already as warm as late spring back home. "It has been long years of asking. You must forgive me if I seem overly pleased with myself."

"Not at all. I never knew you to be so persistent."

"Some men are worth it."

"Ahh," Stacker said as he settled in one of his office's oversized chairs. There was much implication in his voice, and Hercules understood. Neither of them had ever been overly fond of female bed-mates, but in Hong Kong, where the governorship was passed down through twenty-five year elections and not blood, he had been able to avoid a marriage. Whereas Hercules had married for his country, and despite his preferences, had found it not an unpleasant thing. It had given him Charles, after all. "So it's time for that, is it?"

"Charles' new wife is a lovely woman, the kingdom seems to be adoring her, and she's proving herself fertile. I saw no reason why I might not leave the baby-making to them."

"Who's the lucky man?"

"You may know him," Hercules chuckled. 

"Oh?"

"Raleigh Becket."

Stacker stared at him for a moment, and then smiled. "Years, you say? From before he went off to war?"

"He went off to war to get away from me."

That did get Stacker laughing. "While his brother was here for but three weeks, and sailed away with my daughter."

"I have heard that story. My princess is quite fond of telling it."

Stacker raised his glass. "Then may I propose a toast to your good fortune, and retract my offer to take you to bed."

"You haven't offered me that yet," Hercules replied with a smile, clinking glasses.

"Why else would I have my study right next to my bedchamber?" he joked.

Together that evening, they finished off the bottle of port, as well as the half-full decanter of brandy Stacker always kept under the desk, talking about everything and nothing, Hercules still warm from the thought of going home to his young husband when this terrible campaign would end.

For they had found the way to the Kaiju homeland; at least, enough of it to follow. The monstrous tribe seemed to live far in the deep reaches of the ocean, at some islands past the edge of what had been sailed before. Water-current charts and wind patterns indicated an origin point beyond what had been attempted before, and the oar-banks on Kaiju craft bore witness to the fact that sails alone may not be sufficient to reach. But the deep ocean islands were not unreachable, and retrofits were not impossible.

Charles wanted to lead the expedition. He had been getting a good feel for the outer reaches on scouting trips, and had commanded the clipper that took down two Kaiju craft not a week hence. As a sailor and strategist, Hercules would have put his son against any other prince of the Pacifica countries, but as ruler of the merchant-island of Hong Kong, it was Stacker who would no doubt be selected as the admiral for any such incursion. It was also likely a one-way trip. Charles did not think about it in such terms, however. He was after neither revenge nor glory; he was a boy driven by duty, and Hercules was quite proud of him, even if he feared what may become of an invasion fleet.

There were never any guarantees in life. 

Like how the Kaiju had slipped their defenses a week hence, and sunk the most recent merchant ship from Sydney, the one with the royal courier and Lord Darwin, if the survivors' accounts could be believed.

Never any guarantees.

But for the evening, he let himself dream of a world a year from now, with a sandy-haired little Hansen boy running about his castle with Raleigh at his side, where none of his old friends would be killed by these beasts from beyond the known world. Such things were possible, weren't they?

They all deserved a measure of peace.


	8. Chapter 8

To say that Hercules was relieved to see the Anchorage royal yatch dock in Hong Kong’s harbors was an understatement. 

Yancy was on board. He had brought a few warships, but Anchorage had few fast interceptors. The main body of this coalition fleet would be comprised of Lady Sasha’s forces when they finally arrived. What Hercules and Stacker hoped to gain from Yancy was strategy. While the young king had not taken to the army as his brother had, he was known to be quite the keen mind at sea warfare and had plenty of experience in fighting in the deep blue waters far from shore. With his counsel, a final plan could finally be formulated. 

Too, Hercules was 

Except that instead of a warm greeting where they could discuss Yancy’s newborn son and Hercules’ coming wedding, the king of Sydney was met with frigid blue eyes.

It took him until after dinner to corner the young king enough to get an answer from him.

An answer that took Hercules completely by surprise.

“Do not push me right now. Let me get through this affair and then we shall address your grievous action.” Yancy snapped, after Hercules ran him down in one of the corridors of the governor’s mansion. 

Hercules narrowed his eyes. “Well, that is a fine greeting after all your silence, now isn’t it?”

“Hercules, you have always been as a father to me, but I swear on my ancestors, if it was not for my kingdom, I would demand your presence on the dueling green.”

He folded his arms, getting in front of the young man he had helped raise, staring at him levelly. “You wish to challenge me to a duel?”

“I had half a mind to sail down to your fucking gates! If not for my sister...”

“Yes, you would do well to think of your sister, who is carrying a Hansen in her belly, before making baseless threats against me,” Hercules told him, fighting down the anger himself. 

“Or you shall throw her in prison too? My seven months pregnant sister, carrying your blood, as you say! The dungeon would be a fine place for her, don’t you think?”

“The dungeon... lad, you best start explaining yourself.”

Yancy stared at him, but some of the anger seemed to be falling from him. “Surely you were notified.”

“Notified of what?”

+++++

Raleigh was surprised by how many visitors he was allowed to have.

Couriers brought letters on rare occasion, but all seemed to include much happy news from Anchorage; encouragement from Queen Mako, the official birth announcement for the new little crown prince. Gottlieb came by a few times a week, sometimes to talk about his health or bring clean linen, other times merely to ask questions about his ongoing experiments with gunpowder. Even the madame from Queen’s Boulevard dropped in once or twice, to inquire about his health and offer her services - it would have figured that she was quite popular with the Senate. 

Indeed, it seemed as if he spent more time in conversation here than he ever had at the keep.

Some of that might have been the journal. Gottlieb had recommended a memoir, yet for the moment, all Raleigh could bring himself to put down were the small terrors, the inane little things. He had written once, thanks only to his traitorous hand in the exhaustion of the evening, about the battle he had recalled during the hunt, but by the time he finished, he had looked back on it with anger, wondering why he had forsaken his lover for that terrible day. He had thrown those pages into the fire. 

Raleigh would have to re-write them at some point, he knew, if he wished to put together a proper account. But it did serve a purpose. Burning that parchment had felt like burning the day, which had felt very good indeed. 

But the most surprising visit came in late February, from young Calum. Dressed all in black.

“My father was lost at sea,” he said without preamble, sinking down into the spare chair that Raleigh had been afforded for these little visits. “Mother wishes me at home.”

“As you should be. I heard.”

“You did?”

“The guards told me.” Raleigh scooted his chair closer. The guards were not all friendly, but the man who brought him his noon meal was quite talkative. “Calum, I’m so sorry.”

But no sooner had he said it than the boy put his face in his hands. “Swordmaster, it is I should apologize.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is my fault you are here,” he said in a small voice. “I... I told the House about seeing you and the princess in the hallway.”

Raleigh sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair. Of course. That night before his arrest, or a dozen others. Such things would inevitably be taken out of context.

“I... I thought... it was what it looked like, but I had no idea what else to do, I... and then they told me what you said, about the king’s proposal and surely the king would not propose to a commoner so-“

The prince held up a hand, cutting the young lordling off. “You thought you were doing your duty to Prince Charles and the kingdom, did you not?”

“I did not think they would throw you in jail.”

“I am just pleased they are waiting for the king’s verdict before executing me,” Raleigh said drily, but smiled to let the boy know it was alright.

Calum, however, merely shifted nervously. “May I ask you something, Swordmaster?”

“Of course.”

“Are you really Prince Raleigh Becket of Anchorage?” It came out in one fearful breath.

Raleigh nodded. And hellfire, if he had but been honest that first day with his pupils, none of this would have happened. Why had he believed this boy could not handle the truth? “On the graves of my mother and father, I swear to you that I am.”

The boy paled. “By the gods, milord, I am...”

“It is my fault for not being honest with you.” He laid a hand over Calum’s, where it was trembling on his lap. “This is my responsibility, Lord Darwin, my failure, not yours. Your mistake was in earnest. Mine was cruel.”

Calum swallowed and would not meet his eyes. “My father was lord of Darwin.”

“That is yours to carry now, Calum. Do not be like me, constantly running from all you are and all you have done. If you take nothing else from our time together, take this. We all must own our place in this world.”

“I learned much from you, milord,” Calum replied, and his eyes had tears in them now. He dashed them away with his free hand, unsuccessful as more tears sprang to replace them. “More than any other swordmaster our king ever employed.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Raleigh patted his hand again, and sat back. “Give my condolences to your mother. I knew your father quite well, and he was as good of a warrior as any I have met. I grieve for him as well.”

Obviously miserable, Calum nodded. “Why do you stay in this place? Why do you say nothing? If you are a prince...”

Raleigh shook his head. “If I press the matter without proof, there will always be doubt. I would not bring further shame to my princess or my king.”

“But Swordmaster...”

“Come, Calum. I have been in far worse places than this. I can withstand a few months’ boredom if it keeps our king his honor. ”

Calum kissed his hand before he left, on his knee, and as intensely uncomfortable as it was, Raleigh allowed it. He just touched the boy’s head, and pulled him back up into a hug, and promised with a smile that all would be put to rights when the king returned.

In truth, Raleigh had not the faintest idea what would happen when Hercules came home. Nor, indeed, if Hercules would come home at all.

But whatever happened, he was where he was, and he was not going anywhere. He had spent so much time in his life living in the past that he had never given much thought to the future. For the first time, as insane as it may have been, he had hope that there was something more for him than the horror of this war the Kaiju had forced on their lands.

+++++

“Send a decree with your seal. Pull both him and the girl out of their shame, and have the perpetrators publicly humiliated.”

“Indeed. Public humiliation sounds wonderful. But I should like to do that myself.”

“I would think torture is more appropriate, considering what they inflicted on my wife.”

“Nobody is getting tortured.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It isn’t the done thing to be seen enjoying the torture, no matter how satisfying it is.”

“Oh, let the boy have some fun.”

And Hercules leaned back against the battlement of the ancient sea tower at the mouth of the harbor. “Too much of that Han sensibility is rubbing off on you,” he commented to Stacker, but eyed his son. “And what are you doing up here anyway, Charles?”

“King Yancy begs to know when the two of you might return to the map room,” Charles replied impassively.

Fuck these planning sessions, Hercules thought to himself. His brain felt wrapped in wool wadding; he did not know if it was the weather in Hong Kong, or the food, or the fact that his lover was sitting in a jail cell back home. He had needed some air after a long day of planning this war, and by the gods, he intended to take it before going back inside.

Stacker, judging from his slumped shoulders, was feeling equally drained.

And it was a fine afternoon, the sun dipping towards the horizon, the last of Lady Sasha’s fleet sailing just now into the harbor. Their black and red flags were unfurling proudly.  The pirate fleet of Vladivostok.  Hercules could still remember when he and Stacker had been young men in the Navy together, fighting those banners. When those might have been a sign of mortal danger.  But the world had changed, old rivalries set aside this past decade to deal with the Kaiju threat. And now with those ships, scrappy and fast and built to harry heavy merchants, the expedition fleet was complete.

Not a moment too soon, either.  Typhoon season would be beginning in only a few months, near the end of June, and the air currents changing greatly.  It was good sailing weather now, but would not be in a few months, and if the fleet had a chance of return, this was the most advantageous time of departure. 

Stacker smiled a little, the warm evening air sweeping them both. “Ninety percent of my subjects are of Han lineage. One adapts.”

“My people would be quite cross if I tortured somebody,” Hercules grumbled. “But the stocks are most certainly within allowances.”

Yancy had brought with him a long letter from Captain Choi, outlining the situation in great detail.  Hercules had half a mind to relieve him of his command, allowing the fucking Senate Guard into the keep like that, and couldn't help but wonder why the man hadn't asked for permission to resign his commission.  It would have been the honorable thing after what had happened to the princess.  In fact, he wasn’t sure why nobody had informed him. Almost two months now, and nobody had thought to inform him.

As if reading his mind, Stacker patted him on the back. “You remember those days at sea, when you were hiding behind that lieutenant uniform and my mother’s husband had just bought me my commission to be rid of me?”

Hercules chuckled, for he did remember those days. There wasn’t a royal family in the Pacific that did not send their young men off to the military for a few years. He had been quite fond of his time out there, both under a false name and later as a commander of his own ship, as prince. “Everything seemed much simpler.”

“And much more important,” Stacker added. “Your Senate shall do nothing stupid, and you shall be home with your fiancee in short order, regardless. You are not sailing with the fleet, yes?”

“I am going,” Charles said. “Since I seem to be the only one interested in this war right now.”

Hercules cast another glance at his son. “We have yet to decide that.”

"You must be reasonable," Charles said.  "One of us must return for the kingdom, lest you wish Uncle Scott to assume the throne in your absence."

"It is not your place to tell your king to be reasonable,” he corrected, but put no force into it. Charles was right after all, and no Hansen ever used a scalpel when a broadsword would do.

"You are always the one insisting I attend to politics, Father.  This is politics.  If my wife has been accused of adultery and there are none to defend her, our child, even if he be a boy, will never claim the title.  He shall be driven out and the Hansen name disgraced forever.  And it will be Scott, or one of the lords dragging the kingdom into civil war, or..."

"Of course I am thinking of this.  But this little expedition may be the thing to bring peace to our lands."

"I can lead our men," Charles said, without an ounce of his usual bravado, voice cracking a little.  "You raised me for war."

But wise as Charles’ words were, it was not his decision to make. And Hercules had no desire to see his son die on some fool errand beyond the edge of the known world.

“We still have not come to a decision,” Hercules reiterated.

“Indeed,” Stacker replied, eyebrow raised, that single word heavy with implication, but fell to coughing before he could say more.  He turned away from Hercules and Charles, pacing down the battlement with a handkerchief over his mouth. Charles frowned, but turned to watch the ships.

Hercules followed, however, and was close enough to see the blood on the white linen as Stacker tucked it away again.  He said nothing, but filed the information away.  Whatever it was, his old friend would tell him in due course.

"You were saying?" he asked wryly instead.

Stacker half-smiled at him, unease in his eyes, and then looked to the horizon.  Froze. 

Hercules followed his gaze.

There, on the edge of the ocean, in the fading light of the setting sun, were the outlines of sails.

"How many ships did Baroness Kaidanovsky promise us?" Charles asked, on edge.

"Fifteen, the last of which is entering the harbor now," Stacker growled.  There was still blood on his teeth, but neither man scarce cared.  "This is not a Pacifica fleet.  Come.  We must ready the city."

And overhead, on the high Kowloon hills, the gongs began to sound out the warning. 

The Kaiju were coming.

+++++

Raleigh learned of the assault on Hong Kong the same way everyone else in Sydney did; from the official dispatch.

_The harbors of Hong Kong were set afire on the twentieth of this February, the Kaiju attacking at night in numbers that spoke of two fleets, and their desperation in this war against us.  The beasts rained fire and acid on the city, as is their cowardly way.  The Baroness Sasha Kaidanovsky went down with her ship in the harbor mouth to block them.  One landing party made it ashore, but a small contingent of brave city defenders, augmented by the swift action of Alaskan Marines led by King Yancy beat them back to the sea.  There is no telling how many of the beasts were slaughtered before the sun rose, but it took two barges to cart the bodies off into the deep._

_A good two thirds of this beautiful city now lies in smoking ruins, but the Kaiju did not breach the main defenses of the garrisons, did not raid the Treasury, and gods be thanked, did not abscond with the usual number of children.   In turn, we sank the majority of their ships and there are, as usual, no prisoners to speak of, those captured choosing the sword rather than the deserved ignobility of defeat.  A full accounting of the night's actions is being drawn up by the historians.  We shall not forget those who died in this foreign land to protect the innocent._

_Prince Charles, for love of our country, has taken the burden of pursuit upon himself, to eradicate what is left of their fleet.  We shall teach them the cost of this war.  Whether they be amenable to a peace treaty or necessitate extermination, like rabbits in the interior, we shall do what must be done.  Take heart, make preparations for a renewed fighting season, and pray for the safe return of our beloved prince. ___

__The Senate printing house had them done up and distributed throughout the city. Raleigh obtained one from the friendly guard who fetched his meals, and kept it in a prominent location on his little writing desk. It gave no word of the king, but Raleigh was certain that if the king had been injured or killed, the dispatch would have said._ _

__He hoped his brothers were alright._ _

__It was a tragedy about Hong Kong. It had once been the jewel of the Pacifica kingdoms._ _

__But selfish as it was, as worried as he was about his king, the prince knew that his own good fortune could soon come to an end. If Charles did not come back, if Jazmine did not bear a son, Hercules would have to remarry, and not to him. No, Hercules would have to take a wife._ _

__Raleigh would be left alone again._ _

__(And if Yancy fell, Raleigh might be recalled home, regardless of what happened to Charles.)_ _

__It was selfish. It was horribly selfish, to think of anything like that while his family was out risking life and limb against the Kaiju fleets. But there was nothing to do in his cell but think, and sleep, and dream, which is exactly where that thought started; in a nightmare._ _

__He had a terrible panic attack the morning after, waking harshly in the still pre-dawn light, sobbing into his thin blanket like never before in his life, as if every ounce of grief or fear or anger or rage or disappointment he should have been feeling for the past six years, since leaving Hercules for the war, came roaring back at once._ _

__The strange fit began in his bed and ended with him curled in a corner, his meal cold on the table and hair salty with sweat. But just the like the morning he’d woken up after falling at the garrison gate, Gipsy dead and a Kaiju knife lodged in his shoulder, Raleigh felt some kind of relief. He felt... well, he _felt_ , and had not realized how gray everything had been for him previous._ _

__The doubt did not leave him, nor the fear, nor the memories._ _

__Gottlieb’s journal reason, for whatever reason, shut those insidious little whispers. up more times than not. It was something to bury himself in, and comforting in a way; he had survived the war. So too might they, and every little skirmish that left his pen, every encounter, every anecdote, was a relief._ _

__He still had company, although he took less pleasure in it. Nobody, not even Gottlieb, knew the exact whereabouts of the king. Rumor held that he was still in Hong Kong, recovering from a horrific injury or serving in a regent’s position because Lord Governor Pentecost had gone off with the fleet, but who knew for sure?_ _

__When he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stand the voices of doubt whispering in his head, he trained. Pushing his body beyond the edge of the exhaustion was the only way he could gain any modicum of rest, collapsing into his bed._ _

__But as terrible as the entire ordeal was, things did not feel hopeless. They did not feel bleak._ _

__For whatever reason, Raleigh could sit on his stone floor in the evening and watch the sun set, or spend a few minutes with the madame from Queen’s Boulevard laughing at her stories, or look back at the words he wrote and remember something happy, or think on Hercules with love, and that nothingness that had been gripping so tight loosened just a little bit more._ _

__His shoulder was still giving him trouble, and likely would for the rest of his life, but he could close his fingers without pain now, hold things that were not too heavy as long as he did not squeeze._ _

__The nightmares still came, and the memories still grabbed for him, but they seemed to find less purchase now._ _

__And even in prison, there were a few things to be grateful for. Such as the copper wash tub._ _

__Truly illustrating his captors’ uncertainty about his status, a twice-weekly bath was one of those little luxuries he was granted. It was not quite large enough for his entire body, that tub, but it give him the opportunity to clean him up and feel something warm and soothing on his skin, washing away the grime. It gave him a little more impetus to continue pushing his body, knowing that he would eventually get the stink off, and it felt good to be able to submerge his aching arm._ _

__It was perhaps near the end of the March, or into April, when he had gotten his bath and kicked the attendant out and stripped down to his breeches, a day much like any other, when the bath was interrupted by a commotion down the hall, a furious knock on his door._ _


	9. Chapter 9

 “When I was informed you were here, I could scarcely believe it.  And yet, here you are.”

Raleigh knew that voice.  Knew it well.  But he could scarcely believe he was hearing it.

It was Hercules on the other side of the door’s bars, still in his traveling clothes, stained and splattered in mud.  He must had come straight here upon returning to the city, and Raleigh would have been lying if he tried to claim that realization didn’t fill him with happiness.

He just smiled, and spread his arms.  “Here I am.”

The king snorted.  “Did you tell them who you are, or are you still insisting on your ridiculous little farce?”

“I made mention of it.”

“And they still threw you in here?”

“I am just glad it was not the public stocks.”

“If it was the public stocks, somebody’s head would be on the Senate floor right now,” and Raleigh realized they weren’t alone; Hercules was talking to somebody else just out of sight.  “You will explain yourself to me later, Lord Canberra.”

“Milord, you have to understand...”

“I understand when your princess and future queen tells you another of my household is of royal blood, one of our most important allies, you ought to goddamn well listen to her!” Hercules thundered, and turned back to Raleigh.  “Have they treated you ill?”

“No, my king.  Your Senate’s hospitality has been perfectly agreeable.”

“I find nothing agreeable about this situation,” Hercules said, and snapped his fingers at whoever was standing out there.  “Where is the key?”

“The last guard left the ring on his belt, as I said, and they are fetching him from his house...”

“Your servants are as incompetent as you lot are,” the king declared, and leaned into the door, twisting a hand to reach through the narrow bars.  “This is not exactly the homecoming I had in mind, I must admit.”

 _I was quite looking forward to the wedding,_ Raleigh wanted to say, but stopped just short. He had thought on this much, and as much as it pained him, he knew there was a different answer that he must give.  “I was hoping for exactly this,” he said with a smile.

Hercules’ fingers reached and Raleigh stepped forward to take his hand.  “These idiots will be dealt with, my love,” he said in a low voice, and then, louder, “ah good, your man has finally arrived.  Let me in this damned cell.”

“At once, milord,” a breatheless voice called from down the hallway.

“Run, you slaggard!”  Hercules gave Raleigh a sympathetic smile.  “I shall fill these fucking things in with stone, after this.  I do not think the Senate can be trusted to pass such important civil judgements.  What do you say, Prince?”

And there it was.  The first that title have been mentioned aloud by anyone in almost a year.  Raleigh’s eyes stung to hear it, and he did not know why.  He kissed Hercules’ hand.  “If it brings you pleasure, milord, I am all for it.”

It was worth it, for the way Hercules’ eyes went dark with lust.

The cell creaked open, Hercules moving in with the same intention, that same commanding presence, that marked everything he did.  It was one of those little things that Raleigh had picked up on even as a boy, one of those things he had fallen in love with.  Hercules wore the power of his position without apology or ego.  That morning, however, there was disapproval in his face as well as he took in the small cell.

“Seems you have been comfortable, at least.”

Raleigh bowed his head a little.  “Your Doctor Gottlieb has been quite attentive.”

"He is a fine and loyal man.”  Hercules paused at the writing desk, passing a hand over the pile of papers Raleigh had there.  “And you have not been without amusements.”

“What can I say?  Man needs to keep busy.”

Hercules nodded, and looked at him.  “Are you ready to come home now?  I can send somebody to fetch your things back for you.”

Raleigh shrugged.  “I was looking forward to my bath.”

“I can offer much nicer.”

It was impossible to tell if Hercules was speaking seriously or in jest; none of Raleigh’s teasing seemed to be working, and he suspected that Charles was not back at the keep awaiting his return as well.  “I should probably put my clothes back on, and my boots.”

That got a small smile.  “I should quite like to look at your body like this.”

“But then everyone else could see me as well.”

“Yes, that we could not have,” Hercules murmured, and leaned in, lips grazing Raleigh’s ear.  “It distresses me greatly to see you in such conditions, my love.”

“It makes my heart sing to see you at all, Hercules,” Raleigh replied.

Hercules stroked his cheek, just once, and held him for a moment before stepping back.  “Get some clothes on, Prince.  I shall deal with my idiot nobles at a more appropriate time.”

Raleigh gathered himself into breeches, boots and waistcoat, displeased with the fact he had nothing truly presentable to wear.  It was only when he was gathering up his notes, however, that he realized he was actually _leaving_.

Hercules was home, safe and sound, and he was leaving this cell.

It was not without a bit of remorse, however, that he joined Hercules in the hallway, eyeing the assembly of four or five nobles with not a little trepidation.  They were down a bit, speaking with the king, their body language that of nervous men.  Raleigh tucked his stack of notes under his arm, safely ensconced in a leather cover Gottlieb had brought him, and put on his best air of indifference.  

Father had been wrong about many things, but he was not wrong about the way to deal with misbehaving nobles; treat them like you’d treat a dog that mussed on the carpet and knew no better, with condescending patience.  

“Ah, Prince Raleigh.  So kind of your to join us.  I take it you’ve met my fine House of Lords?” Hercules said pointedly, waving his hand around the little assembly in the hall.

“Of course, milord.  They have been quite kind in giving me an extended tour of this fine Senate facility,” Raleigh replied laconically.  

At least a few of them had the decency to go pale.

Hercules laughed as if his son was not off dying in some suicide mission, laid an arm around Raleigh’s shoulders, and led them both out of the little dungeon.  And, for good measure, before they were quite out of sight, Hercules tugged him aside, pushed him into a wall, and kissed him.

Everything in Raleigh flared to life, feeling Hercules’ mouth on his again, and it took every ounce of self control he had to not wrap his arms around Hercules and demand everything.  But this was his king and there were politics to be considered and the social laws of Anchorage were still writ deep on his soul.  He kissed back chastely - and oh, how that hurt to have to do that - and broke away far too soon.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, face hot.  

Hercules thumbed his cheek again, and kissed him once more before taking him by the hand.  “You attempted to defend your sister’s honor by telling them you were a sodomite, did you not?”

And if Raleigh wasn’t red before, he was on fire now. “Milord...”

“I do love you.  But you will not mind if I rub their mistake in their faces a bit, do you?”  

Raleigh took a deep breath, and laid an arm around Hercules’ waist.  “I have never been kissed by a man in the presence of others,” he admitted, feeling shaky.

“I shall have to remedy that,” Hercules told him softly, and kissed him again.

+++++

The ride back to the keep was brief, almost not worth mentioning.  Raleigh was half-hoping to see his mare, whom he still needed to name, but Hercules must have indeed come straight from the road; one of his guards dismounted upon seeing them and offered Raleigh his mount instead.

The king had obviously made little fanfare of his return.  Few recognized the battered and splattered little party as it wound up to the keep.  Raleigh supposed they would have to do a formal return ceremony at some point.  He could not help but wonder if Hercules had forgotten to arrange it.

Jazmine came running, practically the moment they passed under the arch into the main courtyard of the keep.  She was crying as she threw herself into Raleigh’s arms, and all he could do was hold her tight, promising her all was alright as she apologized again and again for landing him in prison.  Hercules wrapped his arms around them both, kissing her on the top of her head, promising the very pregnant young princess that all was well. She curled into his chest, sobbing.

It was quite an unbecoming homecoming, but appropriate.

Half the household was waiting in the main hall for Hercules’ return, and the rest came flooding in, to catch a glimpse of the king returning.  Raleigh left him to give a little impromptu speech to the throng, and slipped away.

His heart was full of something he did not understand, and could not deal with in the presence of others. 

And he did need a bath.  Desperately.  

+++++

Hercules found Raleigh exactly where he thought the boy might be.

Down in the baths.  Eyes closed, head laid back, back to the pool wall and arms spread out on the floor.  The scars stood out on his chest, a faint blue tint to them, almost luminous in the steamy air of the rock-hewn chamber, and the effect was quite impressive.

Raleigh had a body that the gods would be jealous of, Hercules thought.

“Enjoying your freedom?” he asked.

His lover startled a little, but relaxed almost immediately. So different from the first time Hercules had caught him down here, back during the tourney.  Different from when he had left for Darwin and the mission to the Kaiju homeland.  Whatever it was, Hercules was grateful for it.

“Of course, milord.  I am grateful for all my king gives me.”

Hercules smiled, and stepped forward, casting his towel aside.  He did not miss how Raleigh’s eyes came to him.  “If we are to be married, my boy, you may call me by my given name.”

“Of course, milord,” Raleigh said with a small smile.

Hercules laughed.  “I have missed you.  And I assure you, the ringleader of this little coup will be dealt with…”

“I wish you would not, Hercules.”

“Oh?”

“It was Calum of Darwin who notified the nobles.  The boy believed he was doing the correct thing, and was quite distressed when he learned the truth,”  Raleigh flicked at something on the surface of the water, obviously measuring his words.  “Better it be me than some poor soul who would be beaten or put to death under a false accusation.”

“You are constantly doing this,” Hercules observed.  “It tires me, the manner in which you belittle yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not some lesson plan for some child, Raleigh Becket.  You are a prince in your homeland and the betrothed of the king in your adopted country, and he will not stand for any more of this talk from you,” Hercules said firmly.  “He would have you possess your rank again, and stand by his side.”

Raleigh was quiet for a moment, and then pushed away from the wall, gliding easily over even in the shallow water right into Hercules’ lap.  The king grunted a little as the boy settled his weight into his lap, his manhood resting against the king’s belly.  Raleigh was flushed red from the heat.  “I serve at my king’s pleasure,” he murmured, and met Hercules’ eyes.  “But I am, as he says, a prince in my own lands. If I do not desire to see an earnest young man punished for a mistake that injured me and me alone, I will not have him punished.”

“Raleigh…”

“I bore the cell because I wished to.  It gave me time to think, to reflect on where I have found myself and what I desire from the future.”

There was an interesting twist, and Hercules stroked wet fingers through his lover’s hair.  “And what do you desire?”

Raleigh hesitated for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss Hercules again.  
The springs were hot that day, languid, which worked well for the slow slide of hands across skin, the hesitant way in which Raleigh mapped Hercules' body, no less bold than he had the first time they had made love, but far less unsure. His kisses were wet and his face flushed, the mineral content in the water easing the motions. But as much as Hercules wanted to sit there forever and drink in his lover's affections, his body had more pressing needs.

He took Raleigh by the hand and pulled him from the waters, leading him off into the antechamber where the robes and towels were kept.

They somehow managed to make a little nest for themselves to fall back into before they sank back into pleasure. Hercules' length was hot against the curve of his prince's leg, the sensation of bare flesh against bare flesh the best thing he had ever felt, Raleigh's hands more desperate, the sounds he made more pronounced. Hercules breached him with fingers and oil, the silken tightness of his body made all the more wonderful by the amazement in his face, as if there was some secret he was learning for the first time, ancient and new all at once.

Hercules took him there on the floor, hard and unyielding, Raleigh's body crying out for his as he took him deep, deep, deep, again and again. Raleigh came first and Hercules kissed the tears away, five, almost six years of loneliness spilling out of him, fading into the glow of having his lover back with him.

Afterward, they lay entangled there on their pile of linens, Raleigh curled tightly in Hercules’ arms that it felt as if the boy was part of him.  The room was warm and fogged with steam and quiet, the sound of Raleigh’s breath the most vital thing the king had ever heard.  If only that moment could stretch out forever, he thought, but it was broken all too soon.

“I wish nothing more than to marry you, Hercules,” Raleigh said quietly.  “Truly.  I am yours in soul and body, and I would pledge that to any god who wishes to listen.  I would take the condemnation of my homeland, risk exile or whatever the nobles shall force my brother to do against me, if it means being with you.  I wish to be there with you, always.”

A chill gripped Hercules heart.  “But?”

“We cannot, milord.  Not until my sister has her child, and my brother comes home.”

Hercules closed his eyes.  Of course.  Of course Raleigh would think of such things.  But hang all of that.  “Fuck that.  I will not leave you for some hopped-up noblewoman whose only utility is to produce offspring.”

“I have great faith that Charles will come home again.  If anyone can survive the impossible, it is him,” Raleigh replied.  “But if he does not, I would spare you the shame of having to publicly divorce me, or worse, risk a coup.”

“My love, I have need of you.”

Raleigh caught his hand.  “Your country needs you.”

Hercules sighed, and kissed him softly.  “If the gods are cruel, then we shall talk about such things.  Until then, I shall wed you this summer during the tourney, so your family may be there.”

“My father would have died from shame,” Raleigh said, and Hercules didn’t notice the little note of smugness there.

Oh, how he loved this man.

+++++

Regardless of all that had been spilled out, life went on in the capitol.  
Raleigh retained his room at the keep; Jazmine had ensured it was kept exactly how he left it, and besides, Hercules would hear of nothing less.  

Depending on who one consulted, the political situation in Sydney had become either precarious (as most of the court held) or amusing (as Hercules liked to claim).  Most of the nobles were clearly terrified, held in anxious limbo as to what retaliatory action the king - or the kingdom of Anchorage - was going to take against them. Indeed, Hercules seemed to be having fun merely playing with them, and Raleigh suspected it would culminate in something equal parts ridiculous and humiliating.   
No matter.

Raleigh was home.

Jazmine was still not pleased with him over the revelation from the Senate floor, but did exactly what their mother would have done; ignore it entirely and focus her energy instead on the positives that still existed between them. For her sake as much as to keep fuel from the already raging rumor mill, Raleigh refrained from explicit shows of affection with the king outside of closed doors. They did, however, spend long nights reacquainting themselves with each other in all ways, and such evenings Raleigh found very pleasant indeed.

Hercules was still silently distant though; it was his nature, of course, and Raleigh knew that the king was not amenable to having his offer of marriage accepted and then rejected a second time. He was also deeply concerned about Prince Charles. Nothing had been heard of the fleet. Raleigh suspected the only reason Hercules had come home, rather than stay in Hong Kong or the seaside estates in Darwin to better gauge any incoming intelligence, was to correct the situation with Raleigh himself. He felt much remorse over this, but his moods did nothing to help the king's own, so he kept his own gnawing guilt to himself.

+++++

“Are you really Prince Raleigh?” 

Was the first thing his pupils said to him, Raleigh’s first day back in the stable yard.

“One and the same," he told them, with more ease than he felt. He had kept to the same wardrobe, the same plain, worn radius, and had spent the night worrying himself to death over how they might accept him. "Now, shall we resume with the lessons? Captain Tendo here has told me much of his training with you during my absence, and..."

"But you're a prince! You shouldn't have to!" One of the younger boys blurted out. Another hit him in the shoulder for the interruption, and he went red. Tendo, who had indeed been responsible for their lessons and had come this morning to ensure the newer boys took the change in stride, pulled himself off the wall where he had been leaning.

Raleigh held out a hand to stop him. He sighed and strode over, dropping to one knee in front of him.

"The king has asked me to look to your training," he said as gently as he could, "and it is my delight to follow his commands."

"My father says the king favors you because he loves you," one of the older boys, one who had arrived not long before Raleigh was arrested, piped up. 

"And not for my skill?" Raleigh asked, eyebrow raised as he stood again.

The boy seemed to instantly realize his mistake. "Milord, I am sorry..."

"Boys, what I want you all to realize is that in this game of war, a man's worth is not gauged by the history of his bloodline nor the rank of his name but by the strength in his body and heart," he said, and nodded to Tendo. "Good Captain, would you fetch your rudius? The boys no doubt have need of illustration."

Tendo did as asked, stepping forward from the weapon rack, worry in his eyes as they neared. "Milord," he murmured, too low for the boys to hear, "your hand. If you choose this route with them..."

Raleigh very deliberately curled his fingers firmly in place on the hilt of his wooden broadsword, nodding. "Wouldn't be very political of me to abide an injury that could hurt the king's reputation with his future officers, now would it?" he replied quietly.

Looking down, the captain of the guard smiled a little. "Aye, I imagine it would not."

Raleigh won the match easily, and managed to get through the rest of the morning's practice, pleased with how the chattering questions at lunch turned back to his exploits during the war and away from whatever political gossip was ricocheting about. It did, however, get his left arm screaming, and he had to spend nearly an hour in the pools that night just to calm the raging pain in his muscles.

"You should not injure yourself for me," his king told him that night, over a pot of chocolate and the carved onyx chess board in his chambers.

Raleigh smiled, and looked down at where he had tucked his aching arm into his waistcoat. "I would die for you, milord."

Hercules caught his right hand before he could move his rook and lifted it to his mouth, kissing his fingers. "Nothing like that will ever be demanded of you."

 _We do not know that,_ Raleigh wanted to say, but merely smiled instead and went back to the game.

+++++

All was not perfectly well. The princess was close to her date, the king had much work to attend to, and Raleigh had still not conquered his demons. 

It soothed him to be with the king, of course, and out under the open sky. But one of the many things Raleigh had realized during his confinement was that he, and he alone, could ease the pressure pounding in his heart. He continued writing, continued working and while not every day was easy, there came moments, more and more often, where contentment reigned in his soul.

Jazmine gave birth to a son at the end of the spring, the news going out to the entire country in a burst of joyous celebration. She was pale and weak, but glowing, as her baby was laid in her arms and Raleigh - who had waited outside the door with Hercules - had not any words for either of them.

"He looks like Charles did," Hercules said, voice husky, as he brushed the red-faced infant's single lock of red hair from his face. "Daughter, you did so well."

Jazmine nodded once, and then started crying again, hugging her son close even as the midwives tried unsuccessfully to take him away for a suck at a wet nurse's breast.

(Hercules eventually had to order the midwives and wet nurse away; Mako had always been of the opinion that it was grossly unhealthy to allow another woman to suckle one's own child and combined with the absence of Charles, perhaps, Jazmine won that particular battle. Gottlieb did convince her to afford the baby its own crib for sleeping, but Jazmine clung to her son with all the grief of a war widow. Raleigh's heart broke for her, but felt pride nonetheless.)

The king did not broach the subject of marriage again, and Raleigh was unsure how to bring it up. He was fairly confident the king still wished him around, based if nothing else on how the king's hands always seemed to find him when they were alone, but babies were fragile and Charles was still gone, with no word of the fleet's success or failure to be had. It did not seem to be the time for such conversations.

The spring faded and the summer approached. The peach trees grew heavy with fruit. Jazmine's little son grew bigger, pink-cheeked and chubby, with a voice to match his father's. Raleigh wrote and Hercules pulled him away to bed. Life went on. But still there was no word of Charles, not until a fortnight before the annual tournament, when Yancy arrived in Sydney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry with how long this is taking... almost done though! And I'm struggling with some other stuff right now. Just need to bring it in for the landing...


	10. Chapter 10

Yancy was determined to take a long holiday at his hunting lodge on Kodiak when he returned to his own kingdom. Between the end of the war, his beloved queen bearing him a son, and his brothers, the year had quite worn him out. The king of Anchorage was at the end of a long journey that had spanned half the known world and back again, and all he wished for that summer afternoon was for this whole adventure to be over.

Oh, how he had tired of adventures.

Rest and recovery. Perhaps a small bit of revelry. Lots of drinking. That was what was called for. 

But a king always had something to attend to, and that afternoon was no exception. 

He had not even gotten off his horse upon arriving at Sydney’s keep, so urgent was the message he needed to deliver to Hercules, and Hercules had not been there.

“Where did you say your lord had gotten off to again?” Yancy had asked Hercules’ Captain of the Guard, who had been there to greet his small entourage.

“King, it is not so easy...”

“We trained together as boys, did we not, Tendo? Speak plainly and do not delay. You know he will want the news of Prince Charles immediately.”

The Captain had hesitated. “He did mention something about inspecting the peach orchard.”

“The peach orchard?”

“Milord, the prince rode with him as his only protection detail, so perhaps it might be...”

“Peace orchard it is.”

The normally unflappable Tendo had seemed quite reluctant to give him that piece of information, but Yancy could not fathom why. Perhaps it was because Raleigh, with those damned Kaiju scars of his, had no business serving as the king’s personal bodyguard. Perhaps it was because Raleigh should not have been doing that, regardless of his physical condition. If Hercules was allowing him to wield a sword in anything resembling live combat, well, Yancy had only granted his little brother a year away from Anchorage.

It could have been something else, too. Yancy wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was that a guard was not needed these days, at least, not as a hedge against Kaiju attack. The sun was warm, the mid-afternoon breeze thick with the scent of growing things, and the dappled light in the orchard was intensely pleasant. These trees were descendants of trees gifted to Hercules’ family by Yancy’s nearly two hundred years previous to recognize the first Hansen’s ascension to the throne. 

Yancy had always been fond of the place, and knew it well. Still, he saw no signs of his brother nor their father until he was almost through it completely. And then he wished he had listened to Tendo.

Their horses were not tethered or saddled, grazing on the fine grass between the rows, bridles hung on the limb of a particularly impressive tree. An open basket tucked into the roots and a blanket spread on the ground spoke perhaps of an impromptu picnic.

But what they were doing...

Yancy had satisfied his body’s needs a few times with junior officers during his years in the Navy. But it had always been a rather rudimentary act. Never anything as intimate as.

Well.

Yancy had never lain out in the sun on a fine afternoon, clothes banished, with another man riding his cock for all either of them was worth.

(Mako had introduced him to that position, actually, and it was indeed quite enjoyable, but that was _not_ something he wished to dwell on.)

A wave of discomfort assailed him, but Yancy could scarce bring himself to interrupt. Instead, he resolved to go - or at least, beat a tactical retreat - but pulling the reins around caused a bit of noise, metal rattling against metal.

Raleigh stopped his motion and turned to look over his shoulder, even as Hercules raised his head. His brother must have recognized him, even at a bit of a distance, because he toppled off immediately.

Yancy sighed. Raleigh always had reacted to surprises (at least, before the war and when Father couldn’t see) like a startled puppy. It was almost cheering to see it, except it meant seeing his brother entirely naked in a compromising situation.

No help for it, though.

He nudged his horse into a trot, to pull up right next to them. Raleigh had gone bright, clear to his collarbones, pressed so close to Hercules that it seemed he might disappear into the king’s shadow entirely. Hercules, on th other hand, looks like the cat who’d just stolen the cream as he slowly played a few fingers up and down Raleigh’s shoulder.

At least he’d thrown the blanket more or less around their waists.

“Engaged or not, dear father, is it not custom here in Sydney to at least wait until the nuptials?” Yancy asked as evenly as he could, leaning forward on his saddlehorn.

Hercules and Raleigh exchanged a look. Hercules reached for a cup of ale that was not too far from the blanket; Raleigh answered. “We agreed to postpone our engagement until Charles was home.”

“How was the rest of the war?” Hercules asked. He set his ale down again. “Have you come bearing news? Or have you merely come a few weeks early for the tourney?”

Yancy smiled. “I have done both.”

“Oh? Shall we have the news here or at the keep?”

“I think you shall have to have it at the keep, dear father. That is where him, after all.”

“Left... left who?”

Dragging it out was perhaps a bit cruel. “I left Charles there. He may either need rescuing from Jazmine by this point, or some alone time in the orchard. I believe I shall ride ahead to see. When you fine gentlemen can pull yourselves together, I look forward to the family reunion.”

Raleigh was indeed _quite_ red.

Satisfied his duties as big brother were complete, Yancy spurred his horse back around and beat a path back to the keep. 

Discretion was, after all, the better part of valor.

+++++

Raleigh wasn’t sure what to expect from Charles’ homecoming. In all honesty, he had almost given up hope that Charles would come home at all. But there he was, propped up in one of the library armchairs in the family’s private breakfast suite, gaunt and terrible sunburned, his little son sleeping in his arms and a look of wonderment on his face. 

“He is so tiny,” he was commenting to Jazmine, as Raleigh came into the room, and he sounded exhausted.

“He was tinier when he was born,” Hercules told him. 

Jazmine squeezed his hand, and Charles shifted his son to pull her closer too. “I am sorry I was not here, love.”

“Where were you?”

“He is beautiful,” Charles said, clearly avoid the question, and touched the baby’s cheek. “What did you name him?”

“Perseus,” Jazmine said.

Chuck’s eyes got very soft. “My middle name.”

She kissed him.

Yancy, standing behind Raleigh, tugged at his elbow. “Come, brother. Give them their time.”

Silently, Raleigh nodded and let himself be pulled from the room.

He and his brother went down to the kitchens, cajoling a lunch of sausage rolls and beer for Yancy and a flagon of tea for Raleigh, something they knew to keep on hand for him now.

“Not drinking any longer, I see?” Yancy commented, after they decamped to a corner of the grand feast hall and unpacked their food. Preparations were already underway for the opening night ball of the upcoming tourney, but the servants working on the new drapes vanished silently as the royals came in. 

“Hercules has mentioned it displeases him,” Raleigh said, and thought about his cell. “And I have found it does not agree with me.”

Yancy smiled faintly. “It seems that being here agrees with you quite well.”

Raleigh poured himself a mug of cold tea. “Yes, brother. I would say that it does.”

“And Hercules? He agrees with you?”

“We are to be wed.”

His brother looked pained. “The news has, I am told, reached Anchorage. I imagine the court is not taking it well.”

Raleigh nodded. “Whatever you must do, brother, do it.”

“I granted Hercules my permission to ask for your hand, and more to the point, I granted you my blessing. That is my perogative as king, and they will respect it,” Yancy said, but he looked pained.

“I know you do not approve...”

“I do not understand,” Yancy said, and shook his head. “And I cannot say I ever wish to be put in that, err, situation again that we had not an hour hence. But you seem better and if... if it is men that you love, you could do much worse, both by yourself and by our family name, than pledging yourself to a king.”

“That is horribly utilitarian.”

“I love you, Raleigh, and I love Hercules. You are my brother and he is more of a father than our ever was. I cannot say I understand what exists between you two, but I know the bonds that hold our families together. That is enough for me, and I shall defend you to our countrymen.”

Raleigh took a deep breath and nodded slowly. That was the best he was going to get, he knew. He could feel his brother’s compassion, but he could feel the unease as well. “I never wished to bring dishonor on our name,” he said.

Yancy set his beer down and squeezed Raleigh’s hand. “Never, Raleigh. Never.”

+++++

Charles’ return was hailed throughout all of Sydney; the people loved their crown prince, and he had brought an end to the war, or so the story went. 

Yancy could confirm some of it himself. He had stayed on in Darwin, helping Calum organize the usual patrols, and he had been on deck the day Charles was dragged from the ocean. There had been not a single Kaiju siting for months, but he knew not why.

Charles knew the rest of the story, but he was slow to tell it. And then, he only spoke because Hercules was quite firm about needing to have some kind of official narrative to release to the rest of the Pacific.

“They deserve to know what happened.”

Raleigh could see the strain as Charles tried, in his haltering way, to explain what they had found out in the far reaches of the ocean.  No island, he said, or nothing that resembled any island he knew of.  There had been no land masses capable of supporting even the most modest of fishing villages, no sand, no green.  Instead, there had been nothing but treacherous reefs and twisting pillars of rock, some as tall and sheer as the cliff faces of the mountains back home.  A few were scaled, but no life was found; ships were dashed to pieces in a freak storm; the waters were the black of the deepest depths but still rocks scraped against hulls; Kaiju raiding craft would appear and vanish again into nothing. 

"It was a nightmare world.  Nothing that made sense," he said, the four of them gathered in the safety of the king's personal library, a cheery fire set to ward off the chill of Charles' words.

"So from whence did the Kaiju come?"

Charles attempted to explain, describing something like lightning from beneath the waters, islands that rose on the backs of turtles, pillars that moved and waves that ripped in two.  He every time apologized for his poor memory, citing the stress and an omnipresent fog, but when Hercules attempted to press him for even a smidge more detail, Charles exploded.

"They were coming from the bloody land of the faeries, or we had sailed to the mouth of Styx itself and its demons were coming to torment us!  How shall I say this before you listen?!  These things were not human!" 

“Go on.”

At this point, according to Charles, most of the fleet was dead, supplies critically low, not even a fish to pull from the blighted reefs.  But the Lord Governor had a plan.

Charles' ship had been laid in with a fair supply of gunpower.  And the mouth of whatever this gateway was seemed very narrow indeed, the Kaiju patrol craft always issuing forth from a sea arch through which nothing else could be seen.

"What remained of the crew drew lots," Charles explained, after explaining he did recall this clearly.  "We could only hold four men on the only dinghy we had left that seemed seaworthy, and they would not allow me to stay behind."

"They did as they should."

"Father, I am but one man..."

"You are the future king of this land!"

"I know.  I have been watching the Kaiju kill everyone around me since I was ten," Charles snapped.  "But my life is no more important than..."

"You are my son. Of course you are more important!"

That ended that discussion.  And any, actually, as Charles and Hercules fell into another of their famous rows.  Yancy had sighed, and drug Raleigh from the room.

Charles ended up finishing the details in a highly clinical report, which Raleigh found shoved under the bedchamber door the next morning.  It was unsealed, so he allowed himself a moment to read the brief statement, before waking Hercules up to pass it to him.

_After those of us who were to survive climbed into our craft and rowed some distance from the frigate, the frigate under Governor Pentecost's command sailed towards what we assumed was their passage.  The men had taken to calling it the Breach.  As they were nearing, we could see the sails of Kaiju craft emerging from the dark fog that always seemed to cling to the waters._

_What I saw as the Breach opened is not something I wish for any history to record.  Nor what happened to the frigate.  The crew fought valiantly, I believe, to the final execution of the Governor's desperate plan, and a fireball unknown before in war tore the whole thing apart.  The spires around the Breach toppled, sending massive waves throughout the reef which nearly sank us. But by some miracle, we were able to right ourselves (although not without losing what meager stores we had had).  By the time we did so, the fog had lifted and nothing of those peculiar sea walls, nor the Kaiju themselves, remained.  We were in open ocean._

_We drifted for almost two weeks, barely alive, until a civilian clipper out of Darwin pulled us from the water.  Two of the four with me had already perished, and the last made it just long enough to see home again.  Lord Becket, who had been helping Lord Darwin coordinate search parties, was kind enough to accompany me home._

Hercules read it all quietly, setting it aside again, and rang the servants for morning tea.

"You should say something to him," Raleigh said.

"Every man's demons are his own," Hercules replied quietly.  "He does not want my comfort, nor has he ever."

"He is your son."

"As you well know, Raleigh, sometimes it is no blessing to be born a prince.  I doubt he shall ever forgive me for it."

But whatever the results of their argument the previous night, Charles seemed far from upset that morning, when he joined Raleigh and Hercules for the now-weekly Friday ride with the pages.

"It shall feel good to be on a horse again, instead of a ship or a carriage," he declared to Raleigh from within his yearling's stall.  The young horse obviously remembered him, nuzzling his pockets for more treats.

"There you are, boy," Raleigh said, holding one out for him, but the horse would not take it but from Charles' hand..

"You know, brother, when I saw you last year in such a state, it crossed my mind that perhaps you were a coward."

"Oh?"

"I should like to apologize for thinking so."

Raleigh took that in. It had not been so long ago, after all, that he had hated himself for those feelings. But the tension was easier now, most days, and it occurred to Raleigh that Charles could be going through what he was. That many men coming home from this war would be facing the same thing. And he had no desire to see anybody suffer as he had suffered. Not that he would say that; Charles would want fraternity smiled at him.  "If you want to ride with us, you had best attend to your mare.  This one is too young yet."

"Have you been attending to his training?"

"Except for my time as a guest of the Senate, of course."

"Excellent."  the horse butted him, and he laughed, scratching a big bay ear.  "I look forward to continuing it with you. Even if you are sleeping with my father." He grinned, and Raleigh resisted the urge to tackle him into the straw. He was, after all, still recovering.

+++++

The tournament came all too soon, shattering the family reunion but bringing with it a whole host of old friends and new, everyone from every land talking of nothing but the thrill of the war being brought to such a close.

No Kaiju ship had been seen in months.

None.

Sydney itself had been buzzing for the past fortnight, since Charles’ arrival, and the chief playwright of the Opera was working on what he claimed would be his opus.  Ever the dramatic man, the working title was _Breach_ and he insisted on releasing nothing until it was perfect.  At Hercules' behest though, he had a small movement prepared, dramatizing Charles' description of the final battle, and another, showing his rescue by Yancy and the triumphant end of the war. 

Hercules intended to present it after the opening feast the next afternoon, the eve of the tourney and the night when last of the national cohorts would arrive. His guests ought to like that. Especially the entourage from Anchorage. Whatever Yancy was telling Raleigh, Hercules wasn’t stupid enough to think their wedding wouldn’t have political fallout back in the snowbound northern kingdom.

He had not made a public announcement, choosing to focus instead on the happy return of his country’s crown prince. But he had not made a secret of their relationship either, not since kissing Raleigh breathless in that hallway. Hercules saw no need for subterfuge, nor ceremony, nor dramatics.

Things were far from certain.

There was, however, hope. 

It had been a long time since anyone had hope.

He did ask Raleigh to come with him to the temples that evening, his lover agreeing without a second of hesitation, taking his hand as they strolled up the hill to the shining marble pillars that marked Sydney’s devotion to its gods. Neither man spoke, comfortable with merely being in each other’s presence, although Hercules’ heart was pounding a little faster than usual.

They made an offering at the temples of the gods of summer, and of war, and of peace, and as Raleigh was lighting the last candle, he smiled at Hercules. “Shall we to bed?” he asked quietly. “Tomorrow shall no doubt be a long day.”

“How about one more stop?” Hercules suggested. “It was been a while since I have been up here.”

Raleigh cocked his head, but nodded. “Lead the way.”

The temple Hercules wanted to visit was the goddess of home and hearth, a smaller temple on the fringe of the complex, hardly forgotten but rarely visited. There were few reasons to come here, but Hercules had no intention of doing this in the temple of love; their relationship perhaps had started in lust, but that was not where he wished to leave it.

“Hestia,” Raleigh observed as they entered the quiet space, lit only with soft oil lamps, and began to walk towards the inner sanctum. “We should say a prayer for Jazmine and Charles, you are right...”

“I was not thinking about them,” Hercules said and tugged him back by the hand, close enough to wrap an arm around his waist and hold him close. “I was thinking about us.”

Raleigh laid his arms around Hercules’ shoulders. “I think about you constantly.”

“Us, my love,” Hercules corrected gently, and pressed him back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package, handing it over. “You never told me what you wanted for a betrothal gift.”

“I...”

“You commissioned nothing, I learned,” Hercules said quietly, “so I took it upon myself to find a small memento for you.”

“I have nothing to give you in return,” Raleigh commented as he opened the paper.

Hercules shook his head. “Your love is enough.”

Raleigh smiled at him, looking up. “And what is this?”

It was a key. On a chain. Hercules took it from him and slipped it around his neck. “This was the key from the cell they were holding you in. And this I why I say I need only your love. You bore so much for me, but Raleigh, I have no desire but to see you see free from all this pain you’ve been living with.” 

His lover grasped his hands. “Hercules...”

“Would you marry me, my love?”

“I have already said yes.”

“I mean here. Tonight. Right now,” Hercules said, and waved to the high priestess, who he had bid meet them here. “Come back to the keep with me as my prince consort, and whatever else comes, we shall face it together. I cannot wait a second longer for you.”

He looked down at his key, and then back up, an expression on his face Hercules had never seen before. Hunger, it seemed, and love and fondness and need all wrapped into one. 

“I love you,” he said and, squeezing his hand, pulled him deeper in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man... this might be the most uneven fic I've ever written . I hope this chapter works...


End file.
